Descendants of the Mundane
by Orin Drake
Summary: 3rd in the Sins series. Set 2 years after Retribution Nor Redemption July 18, 2004 finished, with chapters 12 and 13 uploaded at once.
1. Chapter 1

Descendants of the Mundane and the general overall concept of Descendants of the Mundane is entirely copyright Orin Drake 2003, as are the characters Kyrie (Almasy Leonhart Kinneas), Rodger Kinneas, and John Sparda. Obviously everyone else has been taken from various Final Fantasy games and Devil May Cry, and other people own those. But you ought to know that by now, right?   
Background: It was a stupid idea I came up with while playing Devil May Cry. I mean, come on. Daughter of Squall meets son of Dante. It sounded so rediculously funny that I just had to. So I did. In the beginning, this wasn't meant to be serious, or even to actually exist in Kyrie's universe at all. It was just too weird not to play with, y'know? But it grew on me. Damn you, Ky. I guess it's set more or less a couple of years after the end of Retribution Nor Redemption. Enjoy, I hope. **_Do not read_**, however, if you've got a really narrow view of relationships or sexuality (keep the other two stories in mind, in other words--Kyrie and Rodger have been together for a long time and they're very secure in one another). You might get warped. Heh heh.   
Also Note: In the interest of... well, myself, really, this is written under the theory that "demon" is a term that incorporates all hellspawn--"devil" is used specifically for a humanoid, intelligent, "higher demon". So all devils are demons, but demons are not devils. Just in case there's any confusion.   
  
  
  


Descendants of the Mundane   
by Orin Drake 

She stretched out on the wooden bench, finally feeling relaxed. It was of very little political importance, really; but two smaller nations bickering back and forth while at the same time trying to be aligned with Esthar just got freaking stressful after a while. Lucky, lucky her to have volunteered to be in the middle.   
Or to have been volunteered, actually. _"Kyrie can handle it."_ Vincent had said. Oh that bastard.   
Relaxing under the shade of a tree, on an uneven bench, overlooking the park... it was nice. It was enough to remove the stress so she could go back and deal with it all over again. Hooray. Why was she working for her grandfather again?   
The cell phone rang in her pocket. Considering there was only the smallest number of people that would be calling, she answered with, "What?"   
"I love you, too." Rodger joked on the other end. "Just realized you're not here."   
"I needed _out_ for a moment." She took a deep breath, sitting up and rolling her shoulders. "I'll be on my way back in a couple of minutes. Will we miss each other?"   
"Nah." He assured, narrowly avoiding a collision with a new intern in the estate hallway. "I'll drop in and visit before we go."   
Rodger had taken to being one of Laguna's "travel buddies", as the president called them. It was a great way to see the world and pretend to be doing work, frankly. Kyrie had been involved in the same sort of thing before Vincent's little suggestion. And she damn well planned to return to said easy job right after this whole mess was over with, too.   
"See you then." She promised.   
"You better." He added lightly before hanging up.   
Phone off, back in her pocket, she found the desire to stand up, let alone walk back, was... lacking. It's not that there was some awful, critical situation waiting for her or anything. But she would have to deal with the arguing again. The back and forth. Being the in-between since they seemed to refuse to talk to one another. What was she, the bridge between two countries? They were right next to each other, for Hyne's sake!   
"That bastard." She remarked under her breath. Nevermind that it had served her right. It was just Vincent's way of getting back at her for replacing all of his suits with jeans and T-shirts. Not such an expensive prank, really--until the suits got lost somehow. That had not been part of the plan at all. She was definitely paying for it now, though.   
"Hello, beautiful." She heard clearly in front of her.   
There was a little bit of shock at first. She was torn from her thoughts by that voice, but stunned by the words. Focussing on her sense of sight again, she gazed immediately upon a pair of black boots a few feet away. Eyes slowly moving up from there, she bore witness to a pair of worn, stone red jeans, topped off by a crimson shirt and a stylishly thin, waist-length black leather cycle jacket. She was glad to see that sexy voice actually came from someone who deserved it--he was quite incredible. Tall (maybe more so than Rodger, even), slender but not scrawny, built but not overly muscular, confident. Handsome. Pretty, even. Granted, the mess of chin-length silver hair gave her the willies at first (understandably so), but... it was just so perfect. This guy was certifiably hot.   
She found a predatory grin spreading over her lips. She just couldn't help it. "Why hello there. And you are?"   
"John." He answered naturally. "John Sparda. And you?"   
Damn did he know how to use his appeal. "Kyrie Leonhart. Although, depending upon who you ask, the whole thing is Kyrie Almasy Leonhart Kinneas."   
John blinked at that. "How about I just call you Gorgeous?"   
Ah, that caused a slightly vicious smirk. Did he know what he was doing, or was he just a jerk? Did it matter at this point? She certainly _felt_ a far cry from "gorgeous" after the morning she'd just had. "I'm going to assume you know how to defend yourself."   
His eyes narrowed slightly with concern. "Why would I need to?"   
Hm. Interesting response. Nearly unreadable. "Leonhart isn't a household name of yours, huh?"   
He shook his head, putting a hand in his pocket and drawing his slender but muscled body to the side. Hell yes he knew how to work it. He was expert at getting people to grant him favors.   
She found herself smiling, somehow. "Where you from, stranger?"   
He looked down just for a moment, unconsciously. "Uh... well, a ways."   
"Mmm hmm." She agreed, finally deciding to stand up. "Well, it's nice to meet you, John. I hope you'll decide to stay in the area for a while." _I want pictures._   
He grinned as if she'd spoken that last thought out loud. "Leaving already?"   
"I've got several supposedly important things to take care of." She assured him. _Damn you, Vincent._   
"Well, I don't have anything to do..." he started suavely, moving to get in her way before she could dart past him. "Maybe I could tag along?"   
Oh, this was good. Why the hell not? He was a lovely plaything. And she got the distinct feeling he could due to be knocked down a peg or twenty. Hell, if she had a leash and a collar... well, with her, at the time... She tried to wipe those thoughts away before he got the wrong idea from her expression. "As long as you stay out of trouble, I guess that's okay." What a lure. What a tease. She felt so dirty. And she didn't really mind.   


The estate was only a couple of blocks away--the traffic literally making conversation impossible. Maybe it was best that way; she could keep him in tow without screwing up by offending him somehow. After his introduction, however, she doubted it would be as easy to offend him as it was for other people.   
At the front door, once again, as always, the same damn guard stopped her. Having a guest with her that she sincerely wanted to _keep around_ for a little while, she finally released a little aggravation on the guard with careful, way too calm words. "I come through here twice every day, at least. And I still need an ID card that you only glance at and never scan? I suggest you either stop asking me for my card, or scan it through like you're supposedly paid to do."   
The guy guarding the door was perhaps a couple of years her senior, but he didn't look it. Certainly not after she'd made her thoughts crystal clear, anyway. Instead of responding, he merely waved them through, without asking to see her card. If there was one thing he heard from rumors and second-hand information, it was never to piss off a Leonhart. That guy she had with her was pretty scary, too...   
"What was that about?" John questioned quietly as they walked inside.   
"Sorry." Kyrie halfway sincerely apologized. "It'd been building up a while."   
_Quiet anger._ He told himself carefully. She was such a cute little thing, though. Especially from behind. How dangerous could she be? "So, uh, where are we?"   
"The Presidential Estate of Esthar." She answered naturally, inviting him into the lift first. Hey, she had to keep him in sight.   
He paused before stepping in. "The... Presidential Estate? You work here?"   
"More or less, yeah." She stepped in after him, swiping her ID card in the newer, "easier to use" security device, then inputting the necessary floor. "Though I get paid in privileges, for the most part."   
"You mean you don't even get paid for working for the _president_?" He was aghast--for no particular reason. He just assumed that if you worked in a place like this, you'd get paid plenty. In fact, he'd sort of hoped it.   
"Well, he's my grandfather." She admitted naturally. "It's okay, really."   
"Oh." Maybe she did have a little more power behind her than he'd realized. But still... "What do you do?"   
"Right now, just get annoyed by adults acting like retarded children." She murmured harshly--then cleared her throat. "There's that building up and releasing thing happening again."   
He grinned slightly. "I see."   
As the lift stopped and chimed that their destination had been reached, Kyrie took it upon herself to step out first. There was a mess of new interns roaming around, and she knew that she'd probably have to bump into one or two of them eventually anyway. It had become a game, for the most part--rather like pinball. Only, with a few more bruises, sometimes. It somehow wasn't so bad this time around, though. "Just follow me." She instructed.   
As if she needed to ask. He followed her through the corridors of moving people like a hungry dog after a bloody steak, never losing track of her steps. It seemed like they were in a human tunnel for quite some time before they arrived through an office door, shutting smoothly and silently behind them.   
Strange how he felt like he'd just been through a battle of some sort. It had been a slightly terrifying gauntlet of student interns, after all. He rested against the corner of the desk in front of him, taking a good look around. What an office. Windows, cushy chairs and everything. Very comfortable, in fact. Hell, he could just lean back and--   
He instantly jerked away from the scary little clownish puppet in the corner behind him, heart beating out of his chest. He realized almost immediately that it was just a stupid toy, but... man, that'd given him one hell of a fright. He'd heard enough stories from his father, thank you very much.   
"I'm not too fond of it either." Kyrie commented, noting his reaction. "But it was a gift. And it freaks everyone out, so I don't tend to get bothered much. I call him Jim." She rummaged nonchalantly about the cabinets on the other side of the room, finding her house keys.   
John stared at her for a moment. Was this lunatic girl serious? She seemed so... normal, at first. That was just his luck, though. He finally started to relax again when he saw the grin at the corner of her mouth at his mannerisms--she definitely knew just how she came off, and she used it to its full extent. Smart girl. Challenging. He liked that.   
The office doors suddenly parted. "Holy Hyne, Ky." Rodger exclaimed, walking inside. "What the hell is it with you? You're a magnet for hot young men." He grinned widely, giving her a kiss.   
_Uh-oh._ Was the thought that had suddenly enshrouded John's consciousness.   
"Thank you." She responded. Turning toward said hottie, she introduced them. "Rodger, this is John Sparda. John, this is Rodger Kinneas. My husband."   
"Oh." John paled. "Um... hello." He offered his hand tentatively, thinking it may perhaps be chopped off at any moment.   
Rodger grasped and shook it instead. "Nice to meet you. I'd stick around and put the screws on, but I've got places to go and things to pretend to do."   
Kyrie found that entertaining. "Get me a souvenir, alright?"   
"Always." He promised. "I should be home by nine tonight." They shared a kiss and an exchange of I love yous, and then he was walking out the door. With a last wave, he called, "Have fun."   
A tingle of enthrallment rushed her. "Oh, I will." She promised, waving back.   
All of this was giving John cold fear sweat. He was... understandably nervous, here. Alarms were going off all over the place. And yet he was still completely unable to form his concerns into words.   
"Now that that's out of the way..." she turned to him as if nothing strange had happened. Key ring hanging from her fingers like a pendulum in her relaxed arm, she inquired, "Care to follow me a little further?"   
Poison. This girl was a siren. And he was an idiot; before he even understood the question, he found that he had already uttered, "Yes." Oh, she was good. Too good.   
She was trying her damnedest not to grin like a predator that had cornered something tasty. Now that much might send the boy over. Instead, she signaled that he follow her. And, like a good, stunned little prey, he did. Tentatively, granted, but he was keeping up with her through the next continuous wave of interns.   
"Already have a new toy, I see." Vincent commented offhand just above the din, walking by in the other direction and stopping to grab a cup of water in the coffee nook.   
John looked more incredibly concerned for his own well-being than ever. "Is there something I ought to know?"   
"Probably not." She responded without looking at him. "Excuse me for a minute?"   
What was he going to say, "No"? He nodded, confused and a little... unnerved, perhaps. She turned to follow the man who had just passed them and dropped the comment, appearing to consciously wait for her approach. He could easily make out the conversation with his half devil hearing ability.   
"Yes?" the man asked teasingly, expectantly.   
"I was wondering if I could take a little time off." Kyrie played right back. "And leave you with the work, for a change."   
He grinned almost invisibly at her request, shaking his head and sighing. "Shirking your responsibilities?"   
"Look, I didn't mean to lose your suits..."   
"You are going to scare him off." He warned, half seriously.   
Heh, that was amusing. "I haven't scared you, yet." She prodded.   
"That is because I am far more frightening than you are." He answered nonchalantly   
John could believe that, somehow. The guy had a freaking claw for a hand. He was as close to a devil walking among men as he'd ever seen. _That_ was saying something.   
"Make me beg and all deals are off." She teased.   
"That's not what you said before." He shot back, deadpan. Hell, one of them would scare the kid off for certain. "And what did your adoring husband say?"   
"'Have fun.'" She repeated, exceptionally proud of herself.   
Vincent sighed once again, overdramatically. "Alright. But tomorrow you're in here bright and early."   
Thank Hyne their idea of bright and early was well after the sun came up. "Aren't you a sweetheart." She smirked jokingly. Before he had the chance to agree, she interrupted with, "No. See you in the morning."   
The two parted ways, and Kyrie approached John once again through the human traffic. "Good to go. Do you mind trains?"   
He blinked, still sort of stuck in the conversation he'd "overheard". "Oh. Uh... no, trains are okay."   
"Great." She started walking again, slowly enough for him to understand that he should follow. The waves of random interns had slowed down somewhat, allowing them relatively quick passage out and into the Jet station. It was times like these when she was glad to be the president's graddaughter--a swipe of her card at the end of a corridor which appeared like any other, and the "reserved for dignitaries" lift straight into the station opened up. She wouldn't flaunt her powers, but she'd sure as hell use them whenever she needed to. Or just felt like it.   
Relatively safe in the lift, door closed behind him, John opened his mouth to ask her something--but fell short of a question. He simply couldn't focus on _one_ thing to ask her to clarify. He took a breath to try again, but still no words would surface.   
She "interrupted" politely. "We'll actually have some privacy on the Jet. If you need time." She added, grinning softly.   
He began seriously pondering the level of trouble he was getting himself into. Okay, run-down: the granddaughter of a very powerful man was going to take him on a train, to a place he didn't know, from a place he didn't know. He swallowed that thought, and it didn't go down easily. He was just damn glad no one had frisked him. Just in case something should happen... well, he was ready. Enough. Freakin' hormones.   


She made this trip so often that she practically had the second to first car on all the trains named after her. Technically it was for all "dignitaries and royalty", but her family was pretty much the only group to ever use it. Everyone recognized her, waving her through the whole process and welcoming her with tips of their hats and smiles--whether real or fake didn't make any difference. They were in, settled and comfortable in seconds.   
A small number of minutes passed them in silence. Of course the Jet couldn't take off before schedule, and Kyrie seemed a little loathe to begin a conversation before the doors were closed and they were on their way. John understood that. He was a little loathe to begin conversation at all. Locked up and alone on a moving vehicle with, for all intents and purposes, a stranger. An attractive stranger, in a plush train car all to themselves, but nonetheless...   
A bell rang outside, signaling departure. As the train subtly jerked into motion, the doors sealed shut with quick swishes. Off they went, starting off slow but leveling off into a smooth, fast run.   
John regarded the girl silently, seated across from him on the same side of the aisle. He would wait for her to initiate the conversation. Besides, he felt kind of weird about even trying to make small talk.   
But he would soon realize that she was not a girl for simple, flighty conversation. "What really brings you here, John?"   
He took a very quick glance at the window, hoping he could blast his way through--and took note of the impossibly fast motion whirring outside. Okay, that wasn't a good idea. "I, uh... I'm kind of a... hunter, I guess."   
She smiled, glad to have actually gotten something out of him. She got the distinct impression that he wasn't talking about wildlife, here. So, another telling question was in order. After so long of being around politics, she'd learned how to get more out of the interrogated than they bargained for. "A hunter? Does it run in the family?"   
"Well, uh... my father was a demon hunter." Immediately his eyes widened, astounded at his own idiocy. Why the hell he'd just thrown that right out there, out in the open--was he fucking stupid? What the hell had this girl done to him? Drug him? Get him _that_ excited? Now it was probably her turn to be on the defensive. With her position, she could have him locked away for the better part of his life.   
To his surprise, she was actually nodding. "I really could have used him a few years ago." She tested softly, trying to get him to admit that either he was a demon hunter too, or she'd misjudged his taste for Galbadian elk.   
It was an unexpected response, to say the least. So much so that the insane discomfort of the moment before sloughed away easily. He felt a little leap in his heart rate, like the moment before he felt that he was about to encounter a beast of the nether realm. "Demon problems?"   
"Close enough." She took a long gaze out the window herself, really watching his reflection. She'd taken note of his interest, the little jump of excitement in his tone that she'd learned to listen for. Just an inkling, a weird thought to have, but it came out loud, "Do all demons have silver hair?"   
His eyes widened. Was she implying..? Did she know what he was?   
Ah, so that flying leap off the cliff of logic, straight into the ground of her twisted instinct, had proved correct after all. She knew he was "different", to say the least. And now she knew why. "It's so cliché." She answered humorously, the questions in his eyes enough to be responded to accurately. "The half-breed hunts the monster side--it's all over the vampire genre."   
Only speaking could prevent his jaw from unhinging completely. "I suppose it is." Of course, if her assumption was accurate, that would mean that the raven haired gentleman with the claw he'd seen earlier, was not a demon. So he could only assume silver hair was a coincidence and nothing more. Come to think of it, his mother, also half demon, had blonde hair... "I guess any hair color goes." He answered thoughtfully. But he could sure use a change in subject. "So... what about your parents?"   
That was most certainly laughable to her. "You're really not from around here, are you?"   
"Not exactly..."   
"Well, good." She offered seriously. "Squall Leonhart was my dad. He was kind of... a hero of the world type thing. And Seifer Almasy was my father. He just happened to be considered everything from a lunatic to a treacherous, insane villain." She met his eyes carefully, more than curious to see his reaction to any of what she'd just said.   
He looked nearly casual, actually. This candid conversation was almost making him forget that he should be on his guard. "Two fathers. Is that possible?"   
Well, that was better than she'd been expecting. Not that she anticipated complete revulsion, but... she was rather used to it. "My maternal mother was a nut case. Big long story there regarding romance and true love. I never knew her, she committed suicide a long time ago. She was a widely loved and feared sorceress, though."   
"Wow." He commented, a big grin lighting his face. "You're just in the crosshairs of everything." Somehow... it was actually making him feel... a little "normal". School had been a living hell; he had no friends, and no one to confide in. But compared to this chick, he was run-of-the-mill conformist.   
"Tell me about it." She shook her head, bemused.   
Things were moving a little more naturally, now. So he let his curiosity wander. "You said 'was', though. About your parents. Are they..?"   
"Yeah." She sighed quietly. "Both dead and gone, I'm afraid. On account of that particular demon I mentioned."   
"I see." He sighed unconsciously. He knew the feeling.   
"And your family?" she attempted gently, quite curious. Hey, if demon hunting ran in the family, and he really was half devil... well, this ought to be interesting.   
He swallowed, not entirely ready for that question. "My mother's been dead for a while. Nobody really knows why, but... we always thought it was murder. My father, well... I, uh... I'm not really sure where he is."   
"Simple" enough, she supposed. He'd had some hard times, too. "That sounds... unpleasant. Are those two things related?"   
He turned his eyes to the window, feeling a raw anger burning in his chest. "I really don't know." He was lying to himself, and he knew it.   
She understood that anger more than she cared to. Maybe it would have been smarter to let things drop, but... she'd push her luck, anyway. She had started to feel more of a kinship connection than she had really wanted. "How long has your father been gone?"   
"Ten years." He admitted, gritting his teeth.   
And his life seemed harder, still. "Well... that sucks."   
He slowly turned back to her, finding nothing but sincerity in her tone. What... what was this girl? And what the fuck was this... power she had over him? Her words should have sent him into a rage--just "that sucks" and move on with her obviously charmed life. But they didn't. And they hadn't been any sort of snare or stab. Just... honest. Quiet, simple, truth. It was... weird. He wasn't used to it. He'd never talked to anyone like this before.   
His surprised confusion was easily noted, making his icy blue eyes wide and vibrant. She didn't mean to smile--it just kind of happened, seeing his expression, how he opened his mouth just slightly to respond but wasn't able to think of anything to say. She had to look away and fake a cough so she wouldn't wind up offending him or giving him the wrong idea about the smile. He must be something, alright--she actually cared whether or not she offended him.   
He continued looking her direction, uncertain of... well, anything. He got this... "feel" off of her, like he'd known her for a long while. It was this instinctual read that he'd never encountered with anyone before--except maybe in the comfort of his own home, back when things were comfortable. It was like when he was able to sense a demon, only... not bad. But then, he'd never really spent this much one-on-one time with another human being (half devil or otherwise) for... a really long time. And certainly not one this... "interesting".   
A slight jerk and an audible clanking served as a solid interruption of though processes; the Jet was slowing in the last mile to the station. The two of them turned their attention to the scenery, noting the rolling hills and high mountains once they ceased being mere blurs. It was quite a beautiful place, in fact.   
"Brace yourself." Kyrie warned.   
Words like that were not to be taken lightly--he tensed just in time to save himself from being hurled from his seat and straight into her as the train stopped entirely. Not that he would have minded much at this point, he thought with the light tremors of a grin on his lips. She was feeling a hell of a lot... "safer" than she had before. But of course, a moment later the doors flew open, and there were no opportunities.   
"Shall we?" she asked like it was all up to him.   
He shrugged. "Sure."   
She lead her way off of the train and out of the station the back way, making sure not to move so fast that he couldn't follow through the crowd easily. Using a practiced path, they avoided most of the really tight masses and made it outside, into the golden warmth of early summer in Trabia.   
It was when she was walking the opposite direction from the waiting taxis and the parking area that John started getting a little nervous. The sun was going down, and regardless of getting to like the girl, she was still... an unknown, so to speak. "Don't you, uh... want a ride?"   
"Nah." She was hardly oblivious to his concern, testing. "It's really not far to the house."   
Now he was stricken with a full-blown panic. He hadn't even thought to ask her where she was taking him in the first place. "The house" sure as hell meant _her_ house. Where _she and her husband lived_. His throat was getting very dry, and he wasn't sure a walk, short though it may be, was in his best interest. Panic. He tried a last ditch tactic. "It's getting dark, though..."   
"We'll be there before twilight ends." She dismissed easily. Almost... playfully.   
He noted that extra bit of curve in the corners of her lips. And then there was that question: _Why?_ It puzzled him that the word hadn't so much as emerged before. To add to all of the other weird shit he'd experienced, he was... still following her. No, he wasn't darting away, running for his life, reaching for his guns. How very, very... odd.   
He waited, following carefully until they were well away from the station. By the looks of things, they were firmly in suburbia, and there didn't seem to be people outside. So, carefully, he consciously poured on the charm to finally straighten things out. If she was the sort of person she was shaping up to be (maybe that he was hoping she was), she'd give him a real answer. "So tell me something, Kyrie. Why am I following you around?"   
She grinned brightly, albeit a touch devious. "Only you can answer that one."   
Hm. Granted. But he wasn't going to take that as a full response. Understandably, he needed something more, here. "You introduced me to your _husband_, used me as an excuse to be dismissed from your work, I've been referred to as your 'new toy', and I'm _still_ walking with you, in a place I don't even know."   
"Yeah, how does that work?" she joked, slowing her pace. Well, what the hell did she have to lose? "You intrigued me. I wanted to spend a little more time with you. How about that?"   
Uh-huh. But not good enough. "Is that all you wanted?" he dared with his ice melting, sure thing smile.   
Ah, now it was down to business, as it were. Her tone was dripping with a false innocence. "Well, if something else were to happen..."   
Now this was just... interesting. Almost car crash, horror movie interesting "And your husband?"   
She stopped short, darting quickly off the path and behind a large hedge, making certain he was right behind. "Since you asked, I'll lay it out simply." She got straight to the point, leaning comfortably against a tree in someone's back yard, safely hidden from any main roads or other houses. "I am not, and never will be, looking for anything deeply emotional. Nothing could or would ever come between Rodger and I, and that's just the way it is. If I find a little fun in someone, though, I'm going after it."   
He'd never heard a woman so frank before. Honest, predatory, hardcore, to the point. "No emotional attachment." He summed up quietly.   
"Exactly." She agreed. "Friendship might even be fine on some level, but--"   
"Fuck buddies." He grinned, daring to get close enough to lay his hand on the trunk of the tree she was leaning against, just above her shoulder.   
"Yes." She was quite amazed that he hadn't looked disgusted, let alone walked away cursing her and her whole family.   
He couldn't help but admit he was intrigued. He wasn't the kind of guy to have a girlfriend. It just... wouldn't work. This little arrangement, though... "Well, Kyrie Almasy... Leon... -hart..."   
"Kinneas." She added playfully.   
"Kinneas." He repeated, a little predatory grin becoming more apparent on his face. "Your husband is in on this?"   
So he _was_ interested. Oh yummy. "Completely. Or he wouldn't have said, 'Have fun'."   
"Is he allowed to 'have fun', too?" he let his mind wander for a moment.   
"Yes, in fact, he is."   
"You realize this is a very strange relationship."   
She grinned, noting that his decision was already made by the slowly decreasing gap between their bodies. "I seem to realize that, yes."   
"Well, then." He chuckled softly and tilted his head down for just a moment, unconsciously making his hair fall into his eyes in a way that made her exceptionally happy. "Care to have some fun?"   
She could melt. She really could. "You're not 'otherwise engaged'?"   
"Never have been."   
_Score!_ she kept to herself as best as possible. "Then I would love to have fun with you."   
But... there was one little thing. "And when your husband comes home? Is the fun over?"   
_Sweet fucking Hyne._ She tried very, very hard to keep her voice level. It was just this absolutely fantastic picture she had in her mind of the two of them... of the three of them... whoo. Oh, what the hell. She hadn't even scared him away yet. "Unless you're not opposed to a little more fun."   
He paused to seriously think that over. It's not like he ever... y'know... But an experience was an experience. Sinning in small numbers, maybe. Besides, how could you know if you didn't like something until you tried? What, he'd be accused of not being "all man"? Well, he could kick any human's puny ass a dozen times before they had a chance to fight back, so fuck that. He got the feeling neither Kyrie, nor anyone she chose to spend her life with, was the kind of person who would blab bullshit like that all over the place, anyway. "We'll see what happens."   
Ah, the promise of sweet things to come... But she knew they couldn't exactly be standing like this for long out here. Sure it was a back yard, and sure there didn't seem to be a lot of people on the streets, but she couldn't afford any more attention than she or her family already got. "It's only a few minutes away."   


It was all she could do not to break out into a run as the driveway was in sight. She kept herself in check, however. At least for the moment. Their walk had been relatively quiet, tinged with the sounds of birds and spotting the local wildlife stealing food out of trash bins and fighting over it. John had asked about the landscape, the name of the town and the continent, and Kyrie had been helpful on filling him in. He really _wasn't_ from around there at all.   
"This is it." She said, taking the last turn and searching for her keys in her pocket.   
He couldn't help but be impressed. The back yard looked more like a private forest from where he was--not that the front was all that shabby, either. It rather surprised him that blood red roses climbed up the side of the house, if only because he certainly didn't think of her as the gardening type. But then, maybe they were wild roses. What the hell did he know about plants? The house itself was almost a mix of rugged and modern, two stories and an attic, and a pretty stone walkway that lead up three steps to the door. There was a nice porch, extending all the way around the side and containing a couple of odd looking potted plants. He got the distinct feeling they weren't of this world, either.   
Door unlocked and opened, Kyrie stepped back and motioned him in. There was one, solid moment of uncertainty... but it seemed to have relaxed itself even before he took the first step. The inside was just as nice; from where he stood, he could see all the way up the stairs, a very clean and homey feel meeting him every step of the way. Kitchen to the left, closet and some other little rooms to the right, and--   
He stopped short in absolute awe, catching sight of Masamune and the Buster Sword on the wall. It was just... a miraculous show of weaponry. He'd never seen anything quite like them, even in his father's vast collection.   
"They tend to get that reaction." Kyrie joked behind him.   
He shook his head, still staring straight at the weapons. "Are those... yours?"   
"They are now." She replied thoughtfully. "That one's the Buster Sword. It belongs to a friend of mine, but he gave it to me, so... And that one... that is Masamune." She felt a little shiver go through her spine at the mere mention of it. Some things simply never faded away. "It belonged to the 'demon' I was referring to."   
He wondered what other kinds of "friends" this girl had. _Masamune_... the word rolled so easily but held so many shards. It was clear this sword hadn't merely been given to her, so he let it go for the time being. Besides, if she didn't have demon problems any longer, then what did it really matter? Taking a quick look around, he noted another scattering of weapons on the wall slightly to the right and underneath the stairs. There was a rack of rifles and shotguns that he more or less recognized, and a number of interesting blades that he didn't. "You must be a collector." He commented quietly, mostly to himself. There was that little nervousness tickling at him again; though he was starting to realize that there was no real foundation to it.   
She grinned slightly at that. "Not really. We just sort of happen upon them. These, for instance..." she stepped forward to indicate the crossed weapons that hung above the rest, "Are my parents' gunblades. And most of the guns were from Rodger's father." She then pointed to possibly the most frightening looking piece, announcing quite naturally, "And that Save the Queen is my aunt's."   
What a... terribly interesting family she had. He wasn't quite sure how to express that politely-so he didn't.   
"But what about you?" she turned to him suddenly. "Hunting demons, you must have something to defend yourself with."   
"Oh, sure." He agreed suavely. Never pass up a chance to impress, that's what his father had taught him. Under his jacket, fit perfectly against his sides in a thin and nearly invisible holster, he pulled out two seriously dangerous looking pistols. It was a wonder no one saw the monstrous things even "in hiding"; but then, the jacket was simply cut in such a way that it fell straight over his sides, making anything hidden in his curves, so to speak, remain that way. Ingenious.   
"Sa-weet." She commented, watching the shining metal as if hypnotized. One glistening silver, one shimmering black. Both really, really gorgeous.   
He grinned without the least bit of shyness, spinning the pistols with perfect and rapid precision before placing them both back in his flank holsters. "Thank you. Maybe I should hook you up with something."   
The smirk was utterly silencing. She really didn't have to say a thing--the look said it all. John followed the subtle tapping of her finger upon her thigh, down her body and to her leg. "Oh." He hadn't even noticed--and, looking back on it, how the hell had that little beauty evaded him? Little, hell; it was a great big... thing. And even sheathed it looked fucking dangerous. There were questions seeping into his consciousness, but he suddenly wondered which one would prove more lucrative to ask first.   
"It's _my_ gunblade." She answered with a hint of pride. With one well practiced, smooth movement, she unlatched the strap across the hilt that held it in place and drew her weapon, up and across her chest for a perfectly wicked visual, finger solidly on the trigger. Fighting fire with fire worked well for her.   
He was... impressed, alright. It was something of a cross between her parents', he realized, and was actually quite aesthetically pleasing. The humor reached his eyes once again as he sensed a challenge coming on. "Let's take this outside."   


He had misjudged the back yard; it was a lot bigger than it had looked from the other side. She pointed out where the property lines ended, marked not by fences but little stone markers. She probably could have built seven more houses out there, if the mood ever struck.   
And all of this space allowed a miniature shooting range. She showed him the collection of what used to be cans and trash lids, reduced more or less to rubble. In that was a friendly challenge.   
A challenge he picked up on. "So... accurate?"   
"Pretty much." She grinned, knowing he'd taken the bait.   
He nodded, pulling his pistols again and giving them each a little spin. "What about style?"   
She chuckled, sensing a more interesting sort of contest developing. "What _about_ style?"   
It was his turn to grin, shifting the black pistol behind his back and shooting an already severely wounded tin can off a rock pile without looking.   
Nodding silently, she accepted that. Taking Eleison in both hands, she rushed forward toward a slightly melted trash lid, held up by a small configuration of stones at the bottom. Slashing down and sideways, she pulled the trigger just as the blade hit dead center--and literally blew it into a million little charred fragments.   
Yes, he could get to like this girl. As she stepped back, he made a show out of twirling his twin guns again. Halting them in a dead stop, he crossed his wrists and blew two more of the cans away, both having been on either side of his peripheral vision.   
Kyrie stood with a hand on her hip, eyebrow slightly raised--but she was not overly impressed. Time for the big guns, as it were. As a slight look of puzzlement overcame John's face, she extended a hand and delicately projected her palm toward the center pile of random sticks and rocks that once held up a can. Instantly the Fire materia buzzed through her muscles--practice had made near perfect, indeed. A barely controlled spark erupted into a hot, bright blaze. Only when her "adversary" seemed thoroughly impressed did she use Ice to freeze the flames themselves. All that was left behind was a small mist of steam and some blackened rocks.   
"You're certain _you're_ not part devil?" was the only response that came from his mouth.   
"Only as far as I know. And that's not much." She admitted jokingly. "It's Materia--like an outside power source that connects to the body. Fire and Ice are my specialty. I've got Ultima, too, but... I can only use that one when I'm 'in an enclosed environment'."   
He grinned appreciatively. "Sounds best that way."   
"So I hear." She joked--with truth solidly behind it. "Rodger has Lightning and Restore. That guy with the claw, Vincent... he thought it best if he was the one who could heal the wounds."   
He actually laughed at that. Maybe that Vincent character wasn't so bad, after all. Still scary, though.   
While she was quite comfortable in the growing darkness (not knowing that John's vision was perfect even in the total absence of light), the night was getting a bit chilly. The sun had been down, and a breeze was blowing in. "We may as well get inside and settle down."   
An interesting way to put it. "Did you have any... plans?"   
She tried her best to hide the devious expression threatening to break out. He didn't have to know how much of a pervert she was right away. "Not really. Just go get changed, relax. Whatever else happens."   
He'd definitely follow her inside for that completely ambiguous statement.   


He was never much of a coffee drinker. But she had asked, and he had said yes, if it wouldn't be any bother. A little caffeine fix never hurt. Especially not when you could add sugar to the mix. He needed sugar to drink the black poison, anyway.   
Sitting on the couch, waiting for her to come back downstairs, he let himself be fascinated by the television. Media was pretty much the same no matter where you went, wasn't it? Not that he cared what the weather was like in Fisherman's Horizon, but he kept the channel there for a few minutes anyway before moving on. Every little bit of another world was interesting.   
Hearing the stairs creak, however, he quickly shut the tv off, put his half empty coffee cup on the table, and glanced behind. It was a silly thing, really; she'd changed into a pair of loose fitting plaid pajama pants and an old, ragged once-black t-shirt. Yet somehow... it was actually kinda sexy. He let that thought settle in an expectant grin.   
She gave him a little amused wink in response, finishing her descent and walking up to him, naturally sitting at his side as if they'd done this a million times. "It's probably not what you had in mind, but it's comfortable." She admitted about her ensemble.   
"No, that's alright." He promised.   
But this wasn't over just yet. She was a dirty, rotten bitch for using this moment to finish things, she knew--but it had to be done. It was eating at her as she was changing. "Now tell me, John." She shot straight for the kill, turning her full attention to him. "Why did you approach me in the first place?"   
He looked at her for a moment with narrowed, searching eyes. Her ability to change subjects, not to mention to tear straight to the heart of the matter, was uncanny. Almost uncomfortable. "You were attractive." He decided upon, letting himself take another look while he had the opportunity right in front of him.   
She grinned, but it was clear the rest of the subject was not going to drop so easily. "And..? I get the feeling that wasn't the only reason."   
He let his shoulders relax a little, seeing that this wouldn't be a pissing contest. Rather, she was just trying to protect her own interests above all else. He could understand that easily. "Instinct." He summed up, choosing his next words carefully. "And... you felt... like you were in a place of power. So I approached. And I liked what I saw."   
"Flatterer." She joked. Then, in a lower tone, she repeated, "Instinct."   
There was a silence between them; one that wasn't making John feel one way or another about her reaction, in fact. That was... kinda weird. He felt it wasn't appropriate to break her thoughts, however.   
When she finally spoke again, it was still in her friendly manner with nothing dark underneath it. "You usually attach yourself to people of power."   
It wasn't spoken as a question, but he got the feeling it was meant as one. "It has its advantages." He admitted. "But..."   
When he didn't continue, she tilted her head ever so slightly, looking every bit like a curious wolf. But this time, John didn't feel like prey. Dare he think it, he felt like... an equal. Truth be told, he just... gelled with her, even before he'd met her. If he believed in fate, maybe he'd have had a better explanation of how or what or why--but he just didn't know how to continue. Until he looked at the clock. "Shit. It's almost nine..." They hadn't even _done_ anything yet. Not that that's all he wanted out of this girl... strangely enough. He'd never had a... y'know... _friend_, before. Maybe he was just imagining it now.   
She smiled slightly, trying to press devious thoughts back. _Down, libido, down!_ "Do you have a place to stay while you're 'in town'?"   
A slight knee-jerk reaction of utter distrust came over him for a moment before he realized she was being genuine. "Look, I'm sure there are hotels around he--"   
"Oh please." She interrupted patiently. "Make a show out of it if you want, but we have a spare room upstairs."   
He was dumbstruck for a moment at her casual bluntness. "I don't want to be a burden." _And I don't want your husband to kill me in the middle of the night..._   
She held back a typically biting comment when she realized he was being utterly honest. "Like I said, we've got a spare bedroom. Call me stupid, but I think we can trust you."   
"Stupid." He joked under his breath.   
She accepted that with a normal, though slightly devious, smile. What was it about him that drew her so close? It was more than the way he piqued her curiosity, obviously. That much was a nice touch, but it wasn't everything. Sure the guy was hot, but that wasn't it, either. What a strange idea; she'd made a new friend. As if to ground her, bring her thoughts back to earth, the sound of a car engine and grinding gravel in the driveway interrupted. "You aren't nervous, are you?" she teased a bit too freely.   
He really couldn't answer that accurately. Her husband had come home a bit early, but on time as promised. And while he knew they had this agreement... well, who wouldn't be nervous? That coffee really hadn't helped much, after all...   
"Relax." She said quietly, reassuringly, getting up to get the door.   
He had the frightful feeling that that had been far too easy for her to say. But then, her husband had given permission, right? He hadn't seemed to mind. He hadn't even seemed the least bit concerned. It might be different now that he was in their home, now that he was sitting on their couch, using one of their cups, conversing and having had a style competition with his wife--   
It was too late to move now. She'd opened the door, and Rodger had come right in. And John... he was glued to the couch, watching their interaction with curious, careful eyes. As they embraced like they hadn't seen one another in years, he was actually trying to figure out why he _didn't_ feel awkward and out of place. Nervous, unsure, but not... not awkward. It seemed, you know, "the other guy" ought to have been skinned alive by now. Or at least be so afraid for his life that he was trying to dart out the back door.   
"How was it?" Kyrie asked, opening the front closet to receive the travel bag.   
"Annoying." Rodger answered with a just-glad-to-be-home sigh. It was then that he looked over, noting their guest. "Ah, a brave one."   
His wife grinned, but said nothing. Was there really any reason?   
"John, right?" the brunette questioned politely, walking over.   
Ah, now the heart rate picked up. He stood and cleared his throat, offering a hand. "Uh, yes."   
"The husband" nodded and shook with a casual smile. This would be very, very fun if this guy was easily freaked out. Hell, maybe that already wasn't the case--he was still there, wasn't he? "Are you staying?"   
He found that he had to swallow to get a little relief in his dry throat. "If I... uh... I hadn't planned, at first, but..."   
"Feel free." Rodger gave his blessing. He looked to Kyrie, standing off to the side and watching his signals carefully. Hey, they could run some pretty fucking great schemes if they wanted (and had, on occasion, but nothing for money)--they could read each other from different sides of the country.   
"Are either of you hungry?" their "hostess" inquired.   
Even with all of this reassurance, John was slow to respond. Hell yes he was hungry. He hadn't eaten for... well, it'd been a while. Still, he waited for Rodger's response. "I could eat."   
"Yeah, I know." Kyrie joked. "John?"   
Well... what the hell. "Yes, please."   
Rodger slapped the fast-learning silver-haired boy on the shoulder. "How do you like pizza, John?" 

* * *

I honestly don't know what to say. I came up with an idea, I started typing, and _this_ happened. I wasn't even quite going to keep this, until Andariel said, "Continue this or die." So what was I to do? Hell's not ready for me yet and Heaven never will be. So, this will be continued. And who knew Kyrie was such a hell-slut? *grin* Oh yeah, she's going to get me back for that one... Nothing wrong with knowing what you want and _getting_ it, people. 


	2. Chapter 2

Descendants of the Mundane and the general overall concept of Descendants of the Mundane is entirely copyright Orin Drake 2003, as are the characters Kyrie (Almasy Leonhart Kinneas), Rodger Kinneas, and John Sparda. Obviously everyone else has been taken from various Final Fantasy games and Devil May Cry, and other people own those. But you ought to know that by now, right?   
Background: It was a stupid idea I came up with while playing Devil May Cry. I mean, come on. Daughter of Squall meets son of Dante. It sounded so rediculously funny that I just had to. So I did. In the beginning, this wasn't meant to be serious, or even to actually exist in Kyrie's universe at all. It was just too weird not to play with, y'know? But it grew on me. Damn you, Ky. I guess it's set more or less a couple of years after the end of Retribution Nor Redemption. Enjoy, I hope. **_Do not read_**, however, if you've got a really narrow view of relationships or sexuality (keep the other two stories in mind, in other words--Kyrie and Rodger have been together for a long time and they're very secure in one another). You might get warped. Heh heh.   
Also Note: In the interest of... well, myself, really, this is written under the theory that "demon" is a term that incorporates all hellspawn--"devil" is used specifically for a humanoid, intelligent, "higher demon". So all devils are demons, but demons are not devils. Just in case there's any confusion.   
**_ Note to the Third Power: This chapter contains "not too very graphic" _sexual situations_ and funny language! Beware! _Keep away_ if you're "sexually sensitive" or just... well, a prude. _Be warned!**   
  
  
  


Descendants of the Mundane   
Chapter 2   
by Orin Drake 

"S-sure." John admitted, a little stunned that the pat on his back hadn't been harder, somehow. "I like pizza."   
"Any topping preference?" Kyrie asked, on her way to call in the kitchen. It wasn't so easy to hide the growing sadistic grin on her face. My, what a question.   
But that much had passed over the platinum-haired boy's head due to nerves--for the moment. Would it be too terribly presumptuous of him to say anything? A sign of weakness to resign to whatever they wanted to eat? So he chose what he thought was a carefully middle ground stance. "Anything but anchovies and pineapple."   
She gave him a thumbs-up acknowledgment and dialed. He hated what Cloud had recently discovered he liked. Hm, this ought to make for interesting situations--if the boy were to stick around, anyway. All she had to say to the guy on the other end of the line was, "Leonhart, two regulars." Perhaps it was more sad than efficient--they did eat pizza an awful damn lot. Were Squall there, he'd probably chastise her. But then he'd eat it just like the rest of them, so hey.   
Upon hanging up, Rodger gave the new kid a non-verbal invitation to join them in wait at the kitchen table. Nervously, he followed without a word. His interrogation wasn't up yet, he felt...   
"So." The brunette began, carefully rolling into the "getting to know you" stage as he sat next to his wife. "Tell me about yourself, John."   
The other boy swallowed a little uncomfortably, slowly sitting across from him, Kyrie at the side of them both. Looking at her for just a split second, she had this... this look in her eye. For some reason, some absolute wonder of the universe, it actually set him at ease a little. "E-everything?"   
"Whatever you'd like to tell." Rodger answered naturally. Hey, he wasn't pushing the guy into admitting previous crimes--he had an idea that Ky had probably already done that. He just needed... to make certain. He trusted her judgment immensely, but they never could be too careful.   
John felt the immediate urge to either run screaming out of the room, or be absolutely up-front and honest. He wasn't certain why he was unable to run out of the room. "Well, I'm... not from around here."   
A good start. "Where are you from, then?"   
Well... it was everything or nothing. Get up and walk out after having made it that far, or spill. And he was still wondering why he wasn't able to get out of the chair. "I guess I'm from another... dimension." To his continued suddenly surreal worldview, the couple didn't even flinch.   
Kyrie smiled lightly at his puzzled look. "We've been through so damn much that nothing surprises us anymore." She joked--half seriously.   
He believed it, alright. Just the absolutely natural looks on their faces... But Rodger was still leaning in, still waiting for more to spill. Nervous but increasingly confident, he took a chance. "I, uh... I'm just passing through until the gateway opens again. It probably won't be for a couple of days..." He trailed off then stopped dead, realizing that he likely sounded like he was trying to invite himself to stay and coming off like a major fucking jerk. "I--what I mean is--"   
"You've never been here before?" Rodger interrupted carefully. He was intently watching the boy's reaction, but... well, he kind of liked him. Not like _that_--he just got this feeling about the guy, that he was decent enough. And he knew his wife was... accepting of him, to say the least.   
"No." He admitted softly. He'd never been through that particular gateway before. It had been sort of a last ditch escape route...   
Kyrie offered an innocent comment. "But I did say we had a spare bedroom..."   
_Of course you did._ Her husband wanted to say, grinning. Instead, he was a bit more polite about it. "Sure. If you don't mind our schedules, John. They're pretty random for the most part."   
Every moment was getting more and more surreal. _Un_real. "N-no. Not at all. As long as I'm not in the way."   
The couple exchanged one more quick glance; it was like they were awarding John his citizenship or something. So it was agreed. The conversation immediately turned more "normal", Rodger taking the lead. "I'm guessing all you have are the clothes on your back..?"   
It wasn't accusatory in tone, but he still felt a little bad about that, too. They were willing to feed him, give him a place to stay, _and_ clothes. He felt like... well, like a gigolo. That thought almost made him laugh out loud--but he held that in for the sake of politeness. "Uh, yeah... But, I can... I mean..." He stopped, taking a better look at this. He had no money with him. Certainly not such that would be taken as currency here, he was certain. Crystallized demon blood was only accepted in so many places, and he didn't have that much left anyway.   
"Don't worry about it." The brunette dismissed. "I have lots of clean clothes. Some even stylish." He joked.   
"Vincent sure didn't think so." Kyrie added.   
The doorbell rang, initiating a full-blown rush to get to the door. Well, alright, maybe it wasn't quite that dramatic, but it sure looked it. One second all three of them were there, and the next it was only the two boys. Rodger grinned at the puzzled expression, explaining only, "She's got a good record for freaking out the pizza delivery people."   
John nodded. She seemed like the type, alright. Yes, they may well be getting along...   
As if paged by his thoughts, she came back into the kitchen with two pizzas and a satisfied expression. "New guy."   
"Still the champion." Her husband congratulated, getting up. "What'll you drink, John?"   
"Cola, if you have it." He stated sheepishly. Hey, he was getting into the swing of things. It was just that taking it slowly seemed more appropriate. And less likely to get him killed or thrown out.   
"Hyne, Ky." Rodger commented, looking in the fridge. "You trying to tell me something with all of this rum?"   
She grinned up from collecting the plates. "Just one of Quisty's random gifts." Bringing the plates over, she announced to John, "She's my aunt. The one who gave me her Save the Queen."   
Once again it struck him how... interesting of a family the girl must have. He started wondering about Rodger's side, too...   
The pizzas turned out to be plain and simple cheese and pepperoni. A blessing--his favorite. And cola. Wow. He'd really lucked out... he hoped. They could still be psychopaths. But they were nice, attractive ones, anyway.   
"We usually eat in the living room." Kyrie let him know, turning the first pizza box so everyone could partake freely. "Unless you think you'll be extra messy."   
The way she'd looked at him as she'd said that... maybe she hadn't even meant it any other way. But he got the feeling she probably did. "Uh, no. I think I can manage."   


Watching the news, anyone would think everything was peaceful, pleasant and perfect, all throughout the world, with no one arguing or disagreeing on any issue at all. John remained fascinated, while the other two threw in their two Gil from time to time, making little comments. Even that was fascinating--just learning about a whole new world would never get boring. Neither would hunting down demons, he supposed, but not in such a good way.   
When news ended, there was a relatively low-class police drama afterward. Even that was utterly interesting--even though John personally had seen the exact same concept already done elsewhere. Not that he was complaining, it was simply that he was pretty sure he knew what was going to happen. Regardless, he watched, ate, joined in a little on their sarcastic commenting, and overall felt pretty damn good just being a part of them.   
"Full yet?" Kyrie joked, noting only the last little bit of pizza left on John's plate.   
He didn't think it wise to admit he'd eaten so much that he hurt a little. Maybe that wasn't a lot by normal standards, but he wasn't used to _food_, for the most part. Certainly not pizza. Damn, it had been a long time. He'd eaten practically a whole pie by himself. Good thing he had a killer metabolism. "Very." He confessed. "Thank you."   
_Polite, hot, likes pizza._ She counted in her head, rising to take the plates back to the kitchen. "Feel free to get a shower if you'd like." She invited.   
Oh god that sounded good. He tried to contain himself--hot, clean water, clean clothes... But then, it was an opportunity for the other two to talk. Alone. Not that he minded that, but on some level he was still a little... uncertain. The shower option was too good, though. "If you don't... I mean, if I could, then..."   
"Go for it." She reassured him.   
Rodger took his place immediately without needing to be prodded. He got up and politely took the plates from his wife, making sure he sounded as innocent as possible. "Why don't you show him upstairs?"   
A thankful look passed over her before she turned to John and indicated he follow her. To his own surprise, he neither paused nor looked back. The promise of the shower was too good to pass up. Yeah, that was it. Just the shower.   
Kyrie stood more or less in the center of the upstairs hallway, pointing like a stewardess. "This, is the bathroom. Right next to it is the linen closet. Across from it is our bedroom." She made absolutely certain to indicate _that_ room, before taking a couple of steps back. "And the room at the back and across is the guest bedroom."   
He felt quite playful all of a sudden, only moments from a clean shower and a change of clothes. "And what's that other room?"   
She lowered her voice mysteriously. "It's the room without a name." Changing back to her normal tone, she dismissed it as, "Just the 'crap that won't fit anywhere else' room. Now let's see what we can find for you to wear."   
_Something_ jumped at that--and not unpleasantly. He'd never thought it was possible to be placed on a _pleasant_ edge. Learn something new every day, or so they say. He followed her eagerly into her bedroom, taking a quick moment to familiarize himself with things. No weapons to be seen--but there were some... rather interesting bits of hardware on the wall over the bed that he didn't think he'd ever seen before. They weren't for shelves, that much was clear.   
Pretending not to have been watching, she beckoned him to Rodger's side of the closet. "Feel free to grab anything that fits. You look about the same size, so..." she dropped that off before it lead anywhere too early--allowing herself just one more sweep of his body. "But if you'd rather just slip into pajamas, he's got a million of those." She paused thoughtfully. "I'm not sure why, but he does."   
He looked over the small folded pile of pajama tops and bottoms of all fabrics and colors shelved in the corner. Yes, a collection of sleepwear was odd... but maybe not, depending upon just what that hardware on the wall was used for. He kept that grin to himself, seeing something... soft. He hadn't slept in anything other than whatever clothes were already on his back in a decade. Unable to hide that second grin threatening, he found a set of dark crimson in something smooth, but a little too thick to be silk or satin. Hey, whatever--it was soft, and he had his choice. And he liked red. Red like the amused eyes that were sizing up his decision.   
She only smiled back at him, then walked into the hall. "There are clean towels in there already. I hope you'll come back down and say goodnight afterward, at least."   
There was certainly a little playfulness in her voice there. Maybe he still had a chance after all. Without being beheaded or castrated by her husband; he seemed... relatively cool. For the moment, though, all thoughts turned to _shower_. "Sure. Thanks."   
She nodded, walking back down the stairs. Part of her really, really hoped he'd undress in the guest room so she'd get a peek as he walked to the bathroom--but no such luck as the bathroom door closed before she even reached the bottom step. Damn. Oh well, there was still plenty of time.   
Rodger noted the incredibly satisfied look on her face; satisfied, but not sated. Making sure the water had been turned on first, he walked up and wrapped an arm around her playfully. "I bet you've got something devious going on in that head."   
"I bet you're right." She responded suggestively.   
"Think he'll freak?" He found himself curious.   
"I hope not." What an awful thought. Things progressing and then _BLAM!_ the boy runs like his life's at stake. "It might be too soon, though."   
"Yeah." Rodger agreed, letting go of her and walking a little further away from the bathroom door. Just in case. Beckoning her over, he admitted, "He seems... alright."   
That was amusing. "Good to know."   
"I mean, even not taking your sickness into account." He joked. "He seems like... I don't know. 'One of us', maybe."   
"I know what you mean." She glanced up the stairs, thinking. "Timid, of course. But I guess we'll see how that goes. You were a saint once, too."   
"Evil girl." He grinned.   


In truth, conversation about the new boy didn't last any longer. They simply sat in front of the TV and relaxed together as was routine, letting the pizza settle. It was a pleasant routine to have, especially on the days when they rarely got to see one another. Again, damn Vincent. It was temporary, granted, but... damn him, anyway.   
"Well..." Rodger finally yawned. "Considering you don't think much will happen, and he's already been in there for an hour, I'm thinking we ought to go to bed."   
She feigned utter disappointment. "You mean, sleep?"   
He chuckled lightly. "Aren't you tired, Ky?"   
"Honestly?" she grinned.   
"He can take care of you." He joked half-heartedly. Alright, so he _was_ a little bit... "randy"... But he was also tired. "Alright, we'll compromise. Sex in bed."   
"Good deal." She agreed, getting up. "But first... I see what I can do to get the toothbrushes." She knew full well the water was still running. And, if all else failed, she knew how to pick the lock, too.   
Rodger shook his head, following her up the stairs so he could change clothes. Hopeless, she was utterly hopeless.   
Polite lady that she was, she knocked on the door. There was a startled dropping or slipping of something or other--_Oh Hyne I hope I didn't just kill him_--before he responded, "Yes?"   
"Just needed the tooth brushes." She announced. "Is it alright to slip in?"   
Now that was a question that brought goose bumps to the surface. Or maybe that was just the increasingly cooling water. "Uh, yeah." He was never so glad for warped and sandblasted glass shower doors.   
She wanted to look. She wanted so badly to just take a peek, even though shower doors are designed so one couldn't see shit--but she didn't. Somehow she controlled herself.   
Until he blew it entirely. "How long have I been in here?"   
She had a _reason_ to look over, and he seemed to know it. So, caution to the wind. "Over an hour." _Glimpse._   
He saw her look over, alright. The cleanliness and relaxed environment was putting him in a much ballsier mood. Wow how time flew when you were getting clean. "Oh, sorry."   
"Don't worry about it." She forced herself not to throw another glance in his direction. The first one had revealed absolutely nothing but a big artsy-looking blob that somewhat resembled a human, anyway. "We're in the process of going to bed, but don't worry about making noise." _We won't worry, either._   
He felt he really ought to quicken his pace; mostly because of the now cold water. So, he shut the water off even before she'd turned to go... and waited.   
Since she was not absolutely sure that was an invitation, she was forced to pretend it hadn't happened. Dammit. _Damn_, _it_. She threw a split-second glance back, then closed the door behind her. Only then did she realize he'd been looking at her the whole time. Probably wondering what she was up to. Damn she hoped she hadn't passed up something fun.   
All the way down the stairs she had to remind herself that he didn't invite her. The mental reminders continued through brushing her teeth; Rodger looking quite amused beside her in the downstairs bathroom mirror. He hardly needed an explanation.   
Getting all of the lights turned off for the night, the stairs creaked. Not that it should have been a surprise, she supposed; she'd told him to come down and say goodnight at least. But that son of a bitch. The pajama pants were intended to ride low, fine--but they rode low enough to establish the fact that he wasn't wearing anything underneath. To add insult to injury, the top was open, completely unbuttoned. Yeah, he _better_ have weapons to defend himself.   
Rodger bit his lip to contain himself. The boy clearly knew what he was doing. A vicious tease worthy of Kyrie herself. Instead of waiting to see what might happen and accidentally fall into hysterics, he decided taking his leave of the situation might actually prove more productive. "Well, good night, John."   
Silver hair still a little damp and plastered mostly in front of his eyes, the boy made an unconscious gesture that Rodger knew would drive his wife even more viciously insane--he ran his fingers through the bangs and shook them out, then drew them carelessly back. Of course, being wet, they stayed for only a moment before falling right back in his face. "Good night... Rodger." He felt a little weird about calling him by name for some reason. Odd. "And thanks for everything. Really."   
The brunette held up a hand that said "no thanks necessary", then gave Kyrie a vicious little smirk. Relatively certain that she was probably going to walk into their bedroom shortly and want quite a bit of "activity", he resigned himself to getting ready. With a nod to her, he walked up the stairs and disappeared.   
Ballsy, indeed. But a cruel bastard. She let herself gaze at him with a slate blank stare--but that tiny, knowing turn of the corners of his lips didn't cease. "Well, then." She finally relented. "Get some rest. Maybe there will be touristy things for you to do tomorrow while I try not to lose it in front of political hierarchy."   
He, too, had come to the conclusion that tonight was too soon for anything... "closer". But it still kind of annoyed him. She clearly saw the signals... and it amused him greatly to know it was getting to her. He felt it in the rise in her body heat, the quickening of her pulse--not to mention the slight tension in her voice. Yeah, he thought he liked her just fine. She could dish it out as well as take it... well enough. "I hope so." He purposely dropped his voice huskily, just a little.   
She half wanted to indicate the wall of weaponry to him again... but they say good things are worth the wait. Whoever the fuck "they" are. Probably some frustrated nut jobs. "Allow me to escort you up the stairs." She nearly threatened.   
And he just about believed it to be a threat. Wordlessly, he lead the way. Not that he actually thought he'd get pushed down the stairs, but... well, sometimes he wouldn't put it past her. He walked all the way to the guest bedroom, then stopped just outside the door. "Good night, Kyrie." He spoke like a high class gentleman this time around.   
"Good night, John." She almost growled.   
Amused for the time being, the boy nodded and swiftly side-stepped, closing the door quickly behind him. Kyrie waited there for a moment; not because she planned on following him, but because she had to contain herself. He hadn't pissed her off or anything--but he'd really, severely, utterly, teased the living hell out of her.   
Finally able to walk again, she left the bedroom door wide open, almost in hopes that he'd hear her. "That bastard." She whispered almost seriously.   
Rodger, waiting patiently at the foot of the bed, covered his mouth and laughed as quietly as he could manage. "He knows exactly what he's doing."   
"And that's why he's a fucking bastard." She found herself grinning in good humor in spite of it. Before her husband had the chance to conduct his infamous tornado of clothes-chucking, she'd already pulled the shirt over her head and was well on her way to yanking the pants off.   
"He must have really gotten to you." He stated sadistically.   
She gave him a joking glare, then promptly pulled back the blankets and got into bed without another word. This also made him laugh, taking him longer to get out of his clothes. "Do you want that door closed?"   
"Not until I'm done insulting him." She grinned.   
He made an overdramatic sigh, getting under the slightly cool covers beside her. "Don't you think our 'noises' are going to scare him off rather than invite him in?"   
"I honestly don't know what to hope for." She threw back, pouncing.   
"I bet you wouldn't mind the company." He joked, bucking her off of him and to the side, then turning to spoon her.   
She couldn't hold back that wicked little laugh. "No, I wouldn't." She admitted, kicking the covers off. They always wound up on the floor anyway.   
"Neither would I." He whispered huskily in her ear. "I mean, you know, I'm not _entirely_ gung-ho about another guy, but... I'd play." He wasn't sexually attracted to men, but John wasn't exactly torture to look at, either.   
She bit her lip and hissed in a breath with that picture alone. Dear Hyne. How perfect. The thought, the vision...   
Little did they know of the extraordinarily acute ears picking up each breath just down the hall. He'd heard the very slip of clothing off of them, and of course the conversation... He was insane. That's the conclusion he had come to. A strange house with strange people, in a strange bed--   
No, not anymore. When had he gotten out of bed? Did it matter? He was already well on his way to their bedroom by the time he realized this could be a bad idea. That very thought was decimated by his lustful hunger when he saw what awaited him in the dark.   
Rodger was laying on his back, arms around Kyrie's waist; she was laying on top of him, also on her back, playfully trying to "escape" his grasp. As soon as the boys' eyes fell upon one another, Rodger's lips twisted into a completely evil grin. He slid his arms up and around his wifes' to lock her own in place, useless, at his sides.   
She took a moment to try to desperately assess the situation--to no avail. None at all; this was all completely in the moment. There didn't need to be any fucking rhyme or reason. She was, indeed, the most libido-blessed girl her husband had ever known. And now Mr. John Sparda was going to test her out for himself.   
The half devil pulled his shirt off though it were a dead monster laid across his back, tossing it aside. Underneath was a perfectly toned body, just sculpted enough to give it shape and slight definition. The pants, being that they were loose anyway, slid off like water with the slightest tug. All else was completely forgotten.   
Kyrie felt in that moment that perhaps two wires had crossed in the deepest depths of her brain. _Some_ kind of electric current was sure as hell running through her. Just looking at that gorgeous thing before of her, grinning wickedly... Now _he_ was the predator, and he was going to take every possible opportunity.   
"Check the nightstand." Rodger whispered gruffly, his hips jerking slightly on their own accord. This was so, fucking, kinky. Oh yes, he would enjoy this.   
John barely registered what he had been asked to do, but followed the instructions. Under normal circumstances, he'd have given pause to the dozens of multi-colored condoms inside the drawer. But this, clearly, was not a normal circumstance. While he'd never had need for the devices before, the attention on his goal never wavered as he sheathed himself successfully the first time. Now that was something to be proud of. Wrapper forgotten somewhere on the floor, he stepped back to the foot of the bed and regarded the picture again. Never in a million years... but oh he was so willing to try.   
Seeing that all was safe and well, Rodger finally gave in to every lustful urge. Holding Kyrie's arms even tighter with his own, he forced a knee between her legs. That done, he slid his other leg between hers and hooked his knees around, forcing her legs open--not in a grotesque, hard core pornography way, just... in an easy-access fashion.   
She could _not_ contain that insatiable moan. Her whole body went limp for just a moment, totally overcome with her own reaction. This was unreal. Just one well-placed touch would be all it'd have taken...   
Regardless of John's general lack of experience with this sort of thing, he _did_ have some killer instincts. He crawled onto the bed, lunging forward on his knees--but stopped before touching her with any part of his body. So she liked to tease, did she? Well, he could comply. Very, very slowly, he backed away and lowered his head until his lips made delicate contact with the inside of her lower thigh.   
The silken tickle of his hair against her skin was, at first, an unwelcome memory--she flinched, jerking in Rodger's arms. He held her tightly, both aware of her reaction and to add to the play. It was as much comfort as it was encouragement, and it brought her back to the moment at hand. That bastard was kissing _toward her knee_. Served her right, but still... When he continued paying more attention to her legs than anywhere else, she threw out a cursing, "Cruel."   
Being turned on didn't just make the boy ballsy--it made him cocky to the point of stupidity. And yet somehow he didn't think it'd be taken too badly among these people. "Can you gag her, too?"   
The brunette mirrored that wicked grin, holding on just a little tighter. "I've tried."   
"You both suck." She moaned quietly. Then, "Or you ought to, anyway."   
Bright blue eyes bore into hers, amused. "Let's not rush things." He kneeled down again, kissing his way back up from her knee so slowly that he almost annoyed himself with it. Back to the inner thigh, the soft trail of lips was interrupted with an abrupt bite. It wasn't the sort that drew blood--it was the suddenness of the act, the pain against the tickly smooth pleasure a split second before that caught her off-guard. And that, somehow, was exceptionally erotic.   
Rodger hissed in a soft breath, watching and feeling her reaction. Well, two could play at that game. He began moving in sync with the silver haired boy, nuzzling her hair out of the way then running his lips over her neck as the other set were roamed freely over her abdomen. There were nips without warning--a contest of them, almost, playing off of one another. And poor helpless Kyrie in the middle was losing her composure altogether.   
Poor, helpless Kyrie. Poor, breathless, gasping Kyrie. Oh, they were good in unison. A little too good. Her thoughts were running into each other like a bunch of blind, overexcited chickens. She could neither issue orders, nor bother to wade past the absolute influx of pure pleasure. She _was_ completely helpless, moving quickly beyond the point of even needing to be touched _anywhere_--   
She cried out with the very energy of the connection--not to mention how fucking awesome it felt. She'd been ready, open, and advantage had been taken, though carefully. The Materia inside her were spinning, coupled with his demon powers and her Sorceress blood--explosive was not hardly the word. Even Rodger felt it racing through the very flesh of his existence, moaning loudly and digging into her hips with his fingernails. It was terrifying and magnificent; and they hadn't even started yet.   
John had to admit to himself here and now that he was not good at this. Not at all. But he was damn well going to try. He caught his breath as much as he dared before pulling away slightly, taking some of that humming energy with him. But that would do no good, would it? A devious smile on his lips, he thrust himself back into place to create another astounding wave of crackling power, crying out himself in the process.   
All control was abandoned; Kyrie moaned in a low, guttural tone and locked her legs around his waist, rocking in fierce rhythm against the boy atop her. The sheer weight and friction of the motions above--not to mention how fucking, gloriously, perfectly kinky this was--made Rodger moan at the same time, getting almost as much out of the whole thing as the other two. Maybe more so--he was holding his wife while a fucking wet dream of hers in the flesh was, well, fucking her. He made a mental note, just before losing the ability to think coherently, to buy her something nice sometime soon.   
Another thrust sent the three of them into sheer animal lust; claws, teeth, growls, purrs, and that raging inferno of raw energy making it that much more extreme. Good at this or not, John was doing a damn fine job by any standards. He managed another three powerful motions in succession, but that was all he could afford himself--he was lost in a sheer wall of polka dotted sparks and pleasure that was normally reserved for gods and heroine addicts.   
Too much, just too damn much--Kyrie felt the telltale slowing of the thrusts, then the complete loss of control. Had she been able to have timed it, she could not have done any better; but as it was, she'd surrendered everything to the moment. Hearing that purr deep in John's throat, seeing him throw his head back, feeling his final burst of energy surround her--she was helpless in the rage of them, bringing about her own release.   
Third domino to fall, mere seconds later, Rodger felt Kyrie's fingernails in his flesh and the sudden release of both of the energies atop him, washing over his own body and taking control. He was so lost in their finales that his own felt like it lasted at least twice as long as any other time in his life, and he practically blacked out right there.   
Had John been conscious enough, he'd have made certain he was not crushing either body underneath his by politely moving aside. Under the circumstances, however, he just sort of... fell over, instead. The three of them rolled like limp things (albeit very _pleased_ limp things), sprawled out together in barely aware bliss. There was a long, comfortable silence as the warmth continued to rush through like alcohol in the blood.   
"Holy, fucking, Hyne." Kyrie panted quietly in the near darkness, still not fully recovered.   
John started to full awareness. For a moment there he had nodded off, contented and tired. But now... "I... I really ought to go..."   
The other two made the briefest of eye contact before Kyrie invited, softly, "You can stay if you want."   
_Want_? Well, that wasn't exactly the issue, here. "But... I..."   
"_Satin sheets_..." she drawled playfully. Bless her dear auntie Quistis.   
He would have to learn these signals in order to survive here. He felt more like prey in their combined presence than ever before. Not that he minded at that moment in one sense, but... survival instinct dictated otherwise. The initial idea of staying was appealing on a number of levels. And, if no one minded... "As long as I don't have to sleep in a wet spot."   
"Oh, that's what the hair dryer is for." Rodger dismissed, turning over to find the usual post-sex necessities.   
John couldn't help a pleasant chuckle, gently pulling away to relax on his back. "You two are the oddest people."   
"You can't be discluded from us, you know." Kyrie grinned, slowly sitting and taking the box of tissues that Rodger offered. Sheets first. "Not after _that_."   
"I don't want to... disrupt your personal space, though." The silver tressed boy found himself being utterly sincere, still a bit too weak (or lazy) to do much more than lay there.   
"We'll let you know." The brunette promised deviously, cleaning himself up with a couple of tissues before getting off the bed and switching on the hair dryer.   
John was actually a little surprised to find the dryer actually being used. Well, that meant he'd have to get up. With a grunt he rolled, almost toppled off the bed, and sprang up. The girl he'd only met that morning, naked, still breathing heavily and very much looking weak but sated beyond belief, offered the tissues his way before climbing off herself. On his side, of course. She hadn't had the chance to check out his ass yet.   
Rodger laughed to himself at the far from subtle backstep she used to get behind the boy, clear in her intentions. Sheet having already been wiped off, it was just a matter of seconds before it was dry. They'd wash them in the morning. And might wind up doing so every night for a few days...   
"If you will excuse me..." Kyrie stepped forward, satisfied with the nice ass she'd just been staring at. "I have to go 'freshen up'. Right back." She stopped at her pile of pajamas, making as if to bend over--then kneeled to pick them up instead. Her final "take that!" to John for the night.   
Said boy smirked, tossing tissues and all into the wastebasket by the door before gathering his pants. As he saw Rodger pull on his own pajama bottoms, he couldn't help but say what was on his mind. "This isn't... like... weird, is it?" He blinked at the blatant stupidity his own question. Yes, it was weird. To society, anyway. But that wasn't what he was asking.   
"It's... different." Rodger conceded naturally, pulling a t-shirt over his head. It would be too warm for a pajama top if all three were to sleep in the same bed.. "But... it's weird that it _isn't_ weird. Know what I mean?"   
"Actually... yeah." How fucking... weird.   
Looking well beyond pleased, Kyrie burst back in and straight in the center of the bed. Oh yeah.   
"Spoiled." Rodger accused her, climbing right in.   
"Yes." She agreed eagerly.   
Not that John was at all uneasy about laying on the other side of her, but... he still almost felt like he should ask permission. It seemed only polite.   
"Come 'ere, Hottie Number Two." She invited.   
Well, that was that. He did so immediately. "Should I ask who Number One is?"   
"Oh, she is." Rodger joked, turning over to face the outside. "I guess you beat me out by one."   
She dismissed, curling up against him, "Vincent _would_ be Number Three, but he's been such a bitch lately. You're my sweet Fourth Place."   
"Thanks, precious." He responded sickeningly sweetly.   
Taking the initiative, John allowed himself to move a little closer, just to be included in the mass. Yes. This would be... very interesting. 


	3. Chapter 3

Descendants of the Mundane and the general overall concept of Descendants of the Mundane is entirely copyright Orin Drake 2003, as are the characters Kyrie (Almasy Leonhart Kinneas), Rodger Kinneas, and John Sparda. Obviously everyone else has been taken from various Final Fantasy games and Devil May Cry, and other people own those. But you ought to know that by now, right?   
Background: It was a stupid idea I came up with while playing Devil May Cry. I mean, come on. Daughter of Squall meets son of Dante. It sounded so rediculously funny that I just had to. So I did. In the beginning, this wasn't meant to be serious, or even to actually exist in Kyrie's universe at all. It was just too weird not to play with, y'know? But it grew on me. Damn you, Ky. I guess it's set more or less a couple of years after the end of Retribution Nor Redemption. Enjoy, I hope. **_Do not read_**, however, if you've got a really narrow view of relationships or sexuality (keep the other two stories in mind, in other words--Kyrie and Rodger have been together for a long time and they're very secure in one another). You might get warped. Heh heh.   
Also Note: In the interest of... well, myself, really, this is written under the theory that "demon" is a term that incorporates all hellspawn--"devil" is used specifically for a humanoid, intelligent, "higher demon". So all devils are demons, but demons are not devils. Just in case there's any confusion.   
  
  
  


Descendants of the Mundane   
Chapter 3   
by Orin Drake 

What an interesting thing it was to wake up between two very warm bodies, nestled comfortably in satin sheets. There was sleepy puzzlement at first--then a very satisfied realization. _Oh yes... yes indeed..._ She'd be thinking of that for a long, long time. Anyone speaking to her would be lucky to get through that glorious stream of memory and find any coherent thought underneath at all.   
She grinned to herself, wondering exactly what time it was. Clearly she couldn't turn around to look at the clock on the night stand. She didn't want to interrupt anyone else's sleep, let alone end this glorious situation before it _had_ to stop. Staring at the crack of sunlight gleaming none too subtly on the wall, it was probably just about time for the alarm to go off, anyway. She was pretty good at waking up just before it did, in fact. It was actually kind of annoying.   
Not really this morning, though. It was quite enjoyable, considering the circumstances.   
Ah--_there_ was that infernal fucking alarm. At least the song on the radio was a good one. She couldn't quite recall what it was at that point in her waking day, but it had that driving backbeat and screaming guitar that made it worth waking up; more or less. An instant later, she felt the body behind her stiffen in surprise of the sudden sound, turning--   
The combination of being ripped quickly (and loudly) from deep sleep, being so close to the edge of the bed, and slippery satin sheets deposited John onto the floor with a clear thud.   
Kyrie did her best not to laugh. It was considerably hard, but she may have pulled it off--with a few coughs. The amused expression on her face was impossible to remove, however. Slowly, she took her arm from around her slowly waking husband and turned over lazily to gaze down at the very bright, very wide blue eyes below. "Y'okay?"   
There was a pause before he was genuinely able to respond. As he opened his mouth, however, there was another matter at hand. Firstly, he sat up and hit the all-purpose snooze button to shut the noise off. _Then_ he answered the inquiry. "Yeah."   
"Glad to hear it." She responded, immediately covering her mouth as a yawn overcame her. At last awake enough to sit, she clumsily turned the alarm all the way off.   
"I shower first." Rodger mumbled, still laying completely still. Such was their rule, like calling shotgun. Of course, he still wasn't making any effort to move.   
"You can do it." Kyrie teased before offering a hand to the still fallen boy.   
John gladly accepted, being careful not to pull her down on top of him... wait a minute. She'd laughed at him. A devious expression came over his face, just a split second before he pulled a little too hard.   
She hadn't had the time to counter in her morning state of mind. She tumbled with a squeak, landing in quite the unladylike pile of spread limbs in his lap. She glared up at him as he chuckled darkly, daring even to point at her as he was doing so.   
Upon hearing the second thud, Rodger sat up to peek over at the happenings, catching sight of the interaction. The boy had balls, alright. He watched intently, amused by her glare melting into an appreciative grin as she batted the pointing finger away. At least they still got along in the morning, that was important. He... he just needed a shower. Showers to him were what extra large cups of coffee were to Kyrie. Without the whole having to urinate right afterward thing. "Now, now, children." He chided, finally lifting from the mattress.   
It was at this point the last flitters of sleepiness seemed to disappear from John's consciousness. He caught sight of Rodger standing, yawning, lazily running fingers through his sleep-mussed hair. Yeah, the guy was kind of skinny, but he was tone, too. Very tone. Not unlike himself. And he'd no doubt been around Kyrie for a long time... meaning perhaps he, too, had a number of weapons skills... He ought to be a little more careful, maybe. Admittedly, all in all, he still felt comfortable, but... Should he be behaving like this? Sure there was last night, but... that was last night. Was he pushing things here? Being rude? Digging himself quite the interesting grave?   
But then, Rodger hadn't so much as given him a dirty look; only a little wave as he walked out and across the hall to the bathroom. Add to that the girl that had more or less relaxed in his lap and arms... was this okay? Was it okay to be this... okay? Was he a fucking moron for asking in the first place? Oh, what the hell. He copped a feel.   
_That_ time his hand stung intensely from her smacking it out of the way. He was a touch alarmed at first--but she looked less than angry, clearly. "Fresh bastard." She grinned, using his initial surprise as an opportunity to get out of his grasp. Not that she really _wanted_ to... but she _did_ have to make it to work. She couldn't very well just abandon Vincent to do the job he should be doing in the first place. _Sigh._   
He sat there for a moment more, just glad she hadn't really been pissed. A number of bad things could have happened then... Of course, he still needed to watch himself. Stupidity and ballsiness in small increments.   
Calmly, she sat on the side of the bed, looking almost as if she had something of extreme importance to say. It was quite a departure from the playfulness a moment before. "You are beautiful, John." She stated softly in a matter-of-fact sort of way. "But that's not the only reason last night happened."   
He was clearly taken aback by the whole situation. Firstly, "beautiful"--it wasn't a term he thought applied to him. Not that men couldn't be things of beauty, and not that he didn't think his father certainly could have been one of those men, but... _him_? Beautiful?   
And then there was that almost terrifying sentiment. A guarded heart on her sleeve, but held out to him just the same. It was so... new. And different. And weird. Very, very weird.   
He swallowed, seeing the crimson eyes behind dark lashes as she pretended not to be waiting for _some_ response. "Thank you." He started quietly, uncertain of himself. He just wasn't sure how to continue. A million questions but none of them translatable to spoken language.   
She pushed yet further with those halfway hidden eyes--being utterly honest, but brutally to the point. This was his trial by fire. It would undoubtedly drive him out or lace them together. Now or never, build or not waste time and resources at all. Scare him or reassure him; she had no idea which was more likely to happen. "It feels right."   
Those three words could have been taken a number of ways, meaning just about anything--but he knew instantly what she was saying. He sure as hell didn't believe in fate, nor destiny, but... he got her meaning. And it sat almost alright with him, which in itself was a little concerning. They didn't even know each other, not that well, not well enough to be... well, they'd already been in the same bed. But that was admittedly different.   
The wide blue eyes maintained unmoving contact with hers for several seconds before he finally managed a verbal response. How it seemed her very presence kept him from his often counter-productive over-classification of thought... "Kinda creepy, isn't it?"   
Her only response was an honest chuckle.   


John was actually very content with their morning routine--they moved like he did. Up, each very quickly showered, dressed (borrowing a shirt and pants from Rodger until his own clothes were dry cleaned), and out the door; only then to think about the rest of the necessities of the day. Kyrie picked up a large burst of black caffeine at the train station before settling into their comfortable private car on the Jet. Lunch would act as their breakfast once they got to the estate. Not to mention it giving them a chance to wake up before any work needed to be done.   
In one sense, it was as if nothing had happened. John sat on one side, facing the couple that sat close to one another across from him. Their conversation was easy, flowing and all-inclusive.   
But in another sense, what happened didn't exactly need to be acknowledged. There were tiny looks given, gestures passed back and forth in a flirting, teasing manner between all of them--absolutely natural. It was a completely comfortable friendship, as if the three of them had grown up together. John wasn't even feeling like the third wheel he'd been momentarily concerned about sometime between laying awake and falling into a wonderfully deep sleep the night before. For three people that had never really had friends for most of their lives, they sure were doing well with one another. Teasing like old relations, comfortable in their own glorious weirdness. It was a great feeling.   


Vincent raised an eyebrow upon approaching the small group in the usual corner of the cafeteria. Indeed he was used to coming upon Kyrie and Rodger, doing something gross or somehow inappropriate with food to amuse themselves until he'd arrived. But there was a third there, this time. That boy she'd been with the day before. Not just that, but... he seemed there by choice. And even then... he seemed to be rather pleasantly comfortable there. The words came out in a deep sigh. "Now there are _three_ of you."   
The man still rather freaked John out. But he'd more or less gotten that this demonic looking guy was quite an important part in the lives of the other two, so he did his best not to stare blatantly at the claw or look frightened on any level. Hell, he even smiled a little warmly and waited until the man had walked closer...   
Admittedly, both Kyrie and Rodger were floored. They knew without a doubt that John had spells of exceptional bravery when it came to other things, but... They watched in an awed silence as the boy actually rose from his chair and presented his hand, stating in a friendly sort of way, "Hello. Name's John Sparta."   
The _really_ amusing part to the watching couple was the look that passed quickly (but not enough) across Vincent's face. It was something close to shock, perhaps. Or maybe it was that look someone gets before their fight or flight adrenaline response kicks in. Either way, it proved too funny even to laugh at.   
Vincent considered the hand for a moment. He had hoped that he would have been able to shake with the claw, if only to have seen the reaction it got--but, alas, the boy had either planned for that or simply chosen the other hand on a whim. The kid clearly had guts of some kind to have still been hanging around the other two. Not only that, but he sensed... well, he could get details later, perhaps. Surprising even himself, he gave the boy a casual, business-like handshake and introduced himself right back, as he would to any visiting dignitary. "Vincent Valentine."   
The two still seated looked at one another with the same jaw weakening thought--too surreal. This was... so odd. And funny. And yet too odd and funny and absolutely surreal to laugh about.   
John used his most powerful asset--that almost friendly, absolutely cocky grin. Nodding, he released hold and sat right back down. He barely caught Kyrie's thumbs-up gesture.   
Vincent paused for a moment more, knowing there was a fourth chair at their usual table but feeling hesitant about it. Two, he could tease and mind-fuck and battle in various ways with ease. Sure they gave him a hard time now and then, as was expected, but... there was a third. A third of stupidity or bravery--or a pretty good combination of both. Three were more stable than two. Three against one. Somehow that thought bright the slightest of smirks across his lips. A challenge, even for him. At last he sat, looking as comfortable as ever. Addressing John is his usual authoritarian manner, he finally began a conversation with the boy. "How did it go?"   
Feeling the need to deflect the blow that John no doubt had not expected, Kyrie commented offhand, "He could teach you a thing or two, Vinnie."   
Rodger chuckled, almost with surprise. Vincent looked somewhat amused, though indifferent. But John rather suddenly blushed, trying harder than he felt he should have to clear his throat or look for something on the ceiling.   
The deflection was a success, however. Indeed the three of them would be dangerous--but not in the worst of ways, so it seemed. Another conversation began, a little more gentle in tone this time around. After all, if the kid were "in", there was little reason to act around him any different than acting around Rodger and Kyrie. "And where are you from, Mr. Sparda?"   
He felt indescribably weird being called Mr., let alone by his last name in a place like this. The only ones that usually referred to him with that were demons and devils... but nevermind. He answered quick and clean, more or less knowing the reply wouldn't cause any of the reactions he used to expect of people. "Another dimension."   
_Hm._ Vincent nodded slightly in acknowledgment. Slight discomfort, but not a lie. Subject change--catch him off guard.. "Do you name your weapons, too?"   
A slight heat broke out over his entire body. He _knew_ his pistols weren't that obvious, how had he-- But the man only responded to his look of concerned curiosity with a knowing grin so slight that from any further away, John would have missed it entirely. Yeah, he could see this guy was in charge. Not to be underestimated, clearly. But as for the question itself... he looked at his "roommates" curiously.   
Kyrie grinned. "He thinks its weird that we name ours." She looked at Vincent, teasing subtly with her eyes. "But I'm willing to bet he's just not telling us what his are named."   
An almost uncharacteristically good-natured smirk crossed the man's face--but he dare not answer. No matter what he said, she could find a way to fight back. Best not to give her the chance to one-up him in the first place.   
Interesting. John found himself feeling glad about not being the only freak to name his weapons. His father did it, sure, and his grandfather, but... there were a lot of little "family quirks" that he didn't seem to share with the rest of the universe in general. "So... your gunblade has a name?"   
"Eleison." She responded, her voice low as if speaking the true name of a god. Her hand automatically went down to the sacred object being spoken of, caressing it with her fingertips.   
_Oooohh._ Somehow it was just as powerful as a religious name, alright. It... suited her.   
She turned to her husband, teasing, "Go ahead and tell him what your favorite rifle is called."   
Rodger only beamed with pride, impervious to his wife's undertone. "Lucile."   
If they didn't know any better, they'd have thought Vincent actually _snickered_ for a moment there. John didn't feel so silly about thinking of his guns as actual, named entities anymore. Looking around carefully, making certain he was faced away from anyone who might see and object (hey, he didn't know what the rules were here), he pulled them from his sides one at a time and laid them on the table in front of him, introducing them like members of the family. "Ebony, and Ivory."   
Even Vincent took in a breath--those were incredible pistols. Distinctly and lovingly hand-crafted from the tiny, subtle etches that glittered in the natural light of the cafeteria's windows. He had to admit (only to himself, of course), they were certainly impressive enough to be granted names.   
"Fan-cy." Kyrie winked, already having seen them in action. That didn't make the moment any less spectacular, though. They were some gorgeous weapons. Effective, as well. The moment was put on hold, however, for a very important reason--an old friend had just wandered by. "Nida!" she greeted excitedly. If he was in the station, then maybe...   
"Why hello, Kyrie." He responded with a wide smile, wandering over leisurely. "Rodger. Vincent. And..?"   
"John." He introduced himself. Hey, what the hell. Now everyone and their fucking dog knew. "Hi."   
Kyrie poured on the charm like an expert. "Oh, Nida..." she began, noting how he already looked more than a little suspicious, "You wouldn't just happen to have control of the Ragnarok for a little while, would you?"   
He knew exactly where the conversation was headed before he'd even approached them. "I might... Any particular reason you'd ask?"   
Vincent rolled his eyes, making Rodger grin. They knew their girl was good at this. But they didn't know how eager the pilot was to play along.   
She continued, ignoring Vincent's silent rudeness. "I thought perhaps you'd be willing to take us out for a spin. In the interest of our scientific minds. And we'll buy you lunch, of course."   
"Of course." Nida played along with only the hint of a smile playing on his features. "Will you be joining us this time, Mr. Valentine?"   
At actually being singled out and asked, the man stared back dully at the whole rest of the group, their eyes on him. "I'm afraid I have work to do."   
Kyrie made a "yeah, right" noise, and the other pair of crimson eyes rested on her alone with a mild sneer. It was a quiet challenge, but a serious one. She knew damn well he was incredibly nervous in a ship that could do three full barrel rolls in 1.5 seconds. Not even they had known that one until Nida had tried it--with little convincing. The pilot was just one of the kids when he passed by from time to time.   
And Vincent stared back stoically, clearly claiming that he was not "one of the kids". Oh sure, he really was, in the end; but he did whatever he could to make everyone else think otherwise. Her challenge was met with something akin to a rude suggestion fit into a glare.   
John watched, almost in awe. Those two were down and out vicious with one another. But it was clear that there was a close friendship there of some sort. Hell, if he didn't know any better, he'd have assumed they were related if not raised together from birth; and not liking one another.   
"It will have to be a short flight." Nida chimed in, pretending to be blissfully ignorant. "But there's been a little engine upgrade I've been meaning to test..." As if on the cue of some horrific, evil demigod, his cell phone began to ring. He excused himself with a polite nod, walking a little ways to the window to better pick up the signal.   
The word "damn" was almost audible on Kyrie's face. Too good to be true. It seemed John's initiation into the wonderful world of launching through the air inside a mechanical dragon ship would merely have to wait.   
Nida approached them again, bowing with apology. "I'm afraid it will have to be another time. I'm needed, apparently."   
John consciously kept himself from letting out a monstrous sigh of relief. Adrenaline junkie, sure. Complete idiot... debatable.   
"You do what you've got to do." Rodger joked.   
"Good to see you, though." Kyrie added.   
"Indeed." Vincent murmured, getting a barely audible kick in the shin for his sarcastic effort.   
The innocent maiden appeared just as golden as ever, throwing all of her attention back to Nida. "You'll come back and get us sometime, though, right?"   
"Of course." He promised with a large smile. "Until then." He waved, bowed once more, and walked away.   
When he was absolutely clear of hearing range, Kyrie's attention turned back to the raven haired man. She had just taken a breath, not even having worked out entirely how to tease him, when he interrupted on another thought altogether.   
"As I said," he added a trite little nod as if to finalize matters, "I do have work to do."   
_I bet you do._ She successfully kept herself from saying. He was no doubt off to plot how to bring John down as well. It also felt like he was leaving to... give them space, in a way. How odd. "I'm sure I do, too. After lunch."   
Vincent grinned thinly, rising from his chair. "I'll make sure of that this evening, before you leave."   
"You do that." She threw back delicately, giving him a wave.   
John was looking at Rodger, almost wishing he could put a voice to these sudden... concerns. Talk about a love-hate relationship.   
Before the man was even out of hearing range, Rodger jokingly dropped a comment toward their new friend, "One big happy family. As you can see."   
"Yeah." He responded. "I see."   
"Well then." Kyrie changed gears. "Since Vincent won't be eating with us... should we stop by and see if we can get Cloud in trouble?"   
"Oh, what the hell." Her husband grinned.   
John didn't quite know how to feel about that. Another one of their relations... well, he felt frightened, to a point.   


"Not to be... too difficult..." John began quietly, "But... are you sure this is the way to the mall?" They'd been walking for an awfully long time through this labyrinth of a building. Not only that, but they seemed to have left all humanity behind several minutes back--not a bad thing, but scary, considering. And dammit, he was getting hungry. Actually and really _hungry_. That pizza must have reawoken his stomach.   
"We're almost there, believe it or not." Rodger promised. "This is actually the easiest way there considering the vast numbers of interns this time of year."   
Upon turning one of the last corners in the labyrinth before the correct lift was obtained, they actually found life. Not just one life form, but two.   
"Hey Laguna." Kyrie greeted her grandfather warmly. "Kiros."   
It took John a few seconds to realize who the first man must have been; besides the president. He could see the family resemblance somewhere under the laugh lines and the graying hair. The guy just reeked of being through a damn lot--but he still had those deep laugh lines. No doubt a good sense of humor was in the Leonhart blood. Or at least one sick enough to keep one entertained.   
While Kiros nodded, Laguna threw out his arms and rushed toward his granddaughter as if it'd been years since he'd seen her; an unfortunate habit, never quite broken. She'd gotten used to it, though. Or, enough. She even returned the affection without a second thought.   
The Hugging Predator then zeroed in on Rodger; unfortunately, this situation was about fifty-fifty. Sometimes the kid got away, and sometimes he just plain didn't. It was the challenge, really--Lauguna pounced, prey side-stepped widely, and there went another battle.   
Kiros and Kyrie made momentary eye contact, the man shaking his head slightly. Herself, she rather enjoyed these odd little things. They added to otherwise boring days at the office.   
All of a sudden there was a seriousness across Laguna's face as he carefully regarded the new boy; the new boy who had been standing stone still like a deer caught in headlights. The man's eyes still sparkled in good humor, but that look... "Care to introduce us?" he asked no one in particular.   
Kyrie took the initiative. "Laguna, this is John Sparda. And John, this is my grandfather, President Laguna Loire of Esthar."   
"Mr. Sparda" swallowed, holding out a hand in hopes that he wouldn't be regarded as a threat. In any way. At all. "Uh... hello."   
"Pleased to meet you, John." He shook the offered hand with power and authority.   
"And you, Sir." He tried his luck at being respectful.   
The girl in the middle of it all had an unmistakable understanding as she watched their exchange; Laguna was sizing the guy up. For a split second in time, she thought she'd fall over laughing--Vincent probably told her grandfather what he knew about this whole thing. She just couldn't picture how that conversation had gone; an awkward series of possibilities began to flash through her mind, one of which involving a diagram. She had to take a breath so deep it caused sharp pains just to keep it in.   
There was a moment when the silence seemed tangible, the serious look across her grandfather's face almost natural in place. Thankfully that moment melted a half beat later as he let go of the boy's hand and smiled once again. "Don't let them get you into trouble."   
What an... interesting suggestion. "I'll do what I can, Sir." He couldn't help the slightest hint of a grin.   
Laguna nodded, indicating that they ought to get to wherever they were going. "I'm already late, but I'm sure I'll see you three later today."   
"At least before we leave, if no one shows up again." Kyrie promised with a wave. She took her leave and her delicate creatures with her.   
The president stood there for a moment more, watching them take off down the hall and past another corner. A new friend for Kyrie was a big deal.   


They landed right on target--practically right across from Cloud's Shop in a little alcove where the lift's door was hidden from public view. Sure enough, even from that distance, the spiky blonde hair could be seen through the front window.   
She leaned in to John slightly, lowering her voice. "He's the one that gave me the Buster Sword."   
His eyes widened remarkably. "Him?" He looked so... small. Short. And, granted he was a muscular guy, but... kinda thin. And that hair, man. _He_ could _lift_ that sword, let alone _use_ it?   
Rodger was quite amused by the boy's response. He completely understood it.   
Kyrie lead the way as she always did when it came to matters of getting people into trouble. Not that this would literally get anyone into an unwanted situation, but shop owners weren't _supposed_ to take off on lunch breaks whenever they felt like it. But she was well aware that, should the desire ever come up, no one would challenge her. How wicked, really.   
Ah, Cloud Strife. He was the one you could count on for constant naiveté--almost always. But the instant he saw the _three_ of them walk in together, he raised an eyebrow. Subtle, but... certainly _there_ upon second thought.   
"Care to bow out for a quick lunch?" Little Madam Innocent requested.   
He wasn't about to turn her down. Especially not considering... the situation. This could prove even more interesting than their usual meals together. "I think I can handle that. Just let me ask my supervisor." He turned around, stood that way for several seconds, then turned back. "Okay."   
John... wasn't sure what to think. He was kind of freaked. And he was increasingly sure it showed--though, looking over at the other two, they didn't seem phased at all. The things a human being could get used to...   
The entire process of closing shop was over with in less than a minute. Lights off, metal curtains down, keys arranged and locking everything into place, and a pre-made "Back After Lunch" sign hung in the front window. Apparently this was normal procedure.   
Instead of going all the way back through the lift and crowded hallways to the Estate cafeteria, they made their way to the food court on the far side. That was the charm of where Cloud's Shop was located; it was out of the way, on the other end from where most of the foot traffic visited on a regular basis. Therefore, there was less of a choice of food, but a hell of a lot more privacy. And Cloud couldn't say he minded. After all, if customers were really interested in his particular wares, they'd certainly find him.   
"Burger or pizza?" Kyrie inquired of their newest member.   
He paused for a moment before responding. "You really do live off pizza, don't you?"   
The blonde grinned to himself at the question. Truth be told, if they didn't all have so much combat training and Materia exercise, they'd be disgustingly massive in stature.   
"It's the perfect food." She responded half seriously. "But the burgers are great here, too."   
"And you might want to hold out for tonight's pizza dinner." Rodger added.   
Cloud almost heard a chime in his head. This was getting funny.   
Up at the Uber Burger counter, four Special Ubers were ordered (amidst the giggles that never failed to accompany actually having to speak such a title); two medium and two as rare as legally possible. It seemed John had the same taste in meat that Kyrie did.   
And that thought made Rodger laugh so hard he had to remove himself from the counter before the employees got _really_ snippy. He was not able to express his sick sense of humor at that moment in anything but uncontrollable laughter, face in his arms at a table.   
Kyrie stared at her husband with a look of amused horror. She'd gotten the general impression of his thoughts as he'd begun to giggle; and, admittedly, she wasn't sure how she wasn't breaking down, too. Oh they were so not mature. But fuck maturity. It wasn't this much fun. Considering they all had better find a table and wait for their orders anyway, she walked up to the hyena at their pre-selected place and accused, quietly, "Sick."   
Of course, that only got another wave of laughter from the poor boy. He could _not_ stop the runaway train, and she was _not_ helping. She was far too sadistic at times.   
Now Cloud was very, _very_ interested. He gave an entirely subtle look toward the new boy, getting a sudden shiver as he realized just how perfectly similar that hair color was to... Well, nevermind that. He was clearly a different entity altogether. Most assuredly because he was blushing.   
John did his best to follow the other two without calling attention to himself. Not that anyone would be staring at him, but... well, he felt like maybe they _ought_ to be or something. He'd gotten... a good enough idea of what Rodger was laughing about. How, he couldn't begin to know--but it had become more clear by the second.   
As all four of them were seated (Rodger still giggling away with his head down), things began to get a little more comfortable. Cloud was surprisingly quiet (well, for him) and polite. Besides, he knew he could talk to Vincent about this later, getting any and all details. He didn't even bother to ask where the new kid was from; even though that and a million other questions were starting to eat away at him. No, he kept to the normal conversations of the constant rise and fall of his video game skill and the bets that still hadn't been paid off.   
Luckily the food came quickly, as it always did. And if John thought the pizza was something to gorge himself on, he had severely underestimated the appeal of a good hamburger and a mountain of fries. Food was swiftly becoming an obsession. But what a pleasant one. Especially considering it kept conversation to a minimum.   
Rodger still had very mild giggle-coughs whenever he looked over at John, though. He just couldn't help it. It'd been one of those stupid little things that just struck him as amazingly funny in the moment. And Kyrie's silent insistence upon being the straight man (for once) was really wearing on his control.   
And yet still somehow Cloud remained the perfect gentleman. He was kind of scaring himself, in fact. He could wait, though. Kind of. Sort of. He was still relatively quick to eat and quick to _pay_--a strange surprise for everyone.   
All perfectly calm, precisely in control of outbursts, they accompanied the "adult" among them back to his shop at his insistence. It was around that particular point in time that John actually got an idea of what the place _was_. Oh sure, on the outside it looked like a usual fashion boutique, really. And then he started walking a little further in, past most of the front racks to peer at the back wall--in silence. What... unique articles of... "clothing".   
Kyrie's grin at his clear reaction was far too hard to suppress, so she barely tried. Turning to Cloud, she only nodded gratefully. "I suppose you should get back to work now. And I should pretend to."   
He nodded back quite naturally, being as nonchalant as possible. Though, he had reached under the counter as she had been talking, pulling out something from a particular cabinet used to store display extras...   
As soon as she noticed what he was doing, an instant nervous curiosity overcame her expression. She heard the crackle of a paper bag as something was placed in it; clearly she wasn't supposed to see what was going on. All too quickly, though, the blonde stood up and presented her with a standard Cloud's Shop, neon pink text on black, gift bag. She... didn't make a move to receive it.   
"Just take it, alright?" he was grinning quite suddenly like an insane man. Well, more insane than usual.   
At this point, Kyrie was starting to catch the sickness. She _was_ quite curious to know what this thing was... "Alright, fine. But this better not turn out like the last time you gave me something from your shop."   
"It won't be." He assured her with a none too subtle wink. "I'll see you around."   
"Don't know about that one." She joked, giving him a wave before stepping out.   
Rodger was fighting to maintain himself, again. He had to fight even harder when he discovered that John was still staring at that back wall in horrified interest. _Breathe, breathe..._ he reminded himself, ever so carefully clasping his hands on the boy's shoulders to steer him out.   


Surprisingly, all conversation, not to mention reaction, was halted until the lift door closed behind them. And then the curiosity exploded from all sides, Kyrie holding the bag carefully as though it could very well be a bomb.   
"So?" Rodger was the first to prod at the subject.   
"I don't know." She admitted, just staring at the closed bag for a moment. It had seemed rude to look inside while in the shop. It was a gift, after all--she wasn't the type to count money given to her, either. But now that they were well out of range and her own curiosity was biting at her heels, she pulled the bag open... and grinned quite appreciatively.   
Even John was getting exceptionally curious--especially with that reaction. Nervous, yes. But too morbidly curious to care. Now that the three of them were alone again, he was feeling much more at ease. "Well?"   
She shook her head, still grinning. Reaching into the bag, she drew the gift out on hooked finger--a thin, red, leather collar. It had enough eyelets to fit just about any sized neck, a simple pewter buckle, and a dark silver D-ring in front.   
Oh, this was just... Rodger let out a low chuckle, trying to keep in mind that his guts still hurt from the last burst of laughter he'd suffered. He was just about to ask if a leash came with that, when she lifted a red leather lead out as well. It was a set. A nice set. As a gift. And he started laughing harder, grasping at his sore stomach.   
John looked... concerned. Did the world know already? No, he wasn't mortified or anything (especially considering he didn't even belong to this dimension), but... He felt like he ought to be concerned about this one. "I mean... isn't this kind of... y'know..?"   
"Frankly, my whole damn family is like this." She answered honestly, placing the gifts back in the bag... and already coming up with lovely ideas. It was clear in the devious sparkle in her eyes. "I mean, not in public, obviously, but... yeah."   
"And yours?" he asked Rodger, not sure he really wanted to know.   
The brunette smiled back, recovering. "I really don't know. They're kind of... conservative, in a way. But they like Ky, so something must be 'off'. In a good way."   
She answered with an appreciative chuckle. "So far so good."   
John found himself grinning. _Grinning_. And _still standing there_, among _these people_! Just... holy shit. He was either very stupid or very comfortable. Or the most fantastic combination of both. "Interesting place."   
She nodded, voicing a strange thought that had just crossed her mind. "I'd go so far as to say my parents would like you. Eventually."   
The new boy blinked. "Eventually?"   
She continued frankly. "Well, Seifer would hate you at first. But Squall would remind him that he'd hate you because you reminded him too much of himself at your age."   
A pause--not on purpose. "You think so?" What did that say about him, really? Obviously he'd never known much about her parents, but... was this a good thing? Should he be screaming, beating on the lift door with both fists for some sane help?   
"Relax." She felt she had to remind him before his heart raced out of his chest. "It's a compliment, really."   
"And _that_?" he indicated the gift bag.   
"And _this_," she held up the bag, "Is a blessing." She grinned, making Rodger start to laugh all over again. 


	4. Chapter 4

Descendants of the Mundane and the general overall concept of Descendants of the Mundane is entirely copyright Orin Drake 2003, as are the characters Kyrie (Almasy Leonhart Kinneas), Rodger Kinneas, and John Sparda. Obviously everyone else has been taken from various Final Fantasy games and Devil May Cry, and other people own those. But you ought to know that by now, right?   
Background: It was a stupid idea I came up with while playing Devil May Cry. I mean, come on. Daughter of Squall meets son of Dante. It sounded so rediculously funny that I just had to. So I did. In the beginning, this wasn't meant to be serious, or even to actually exist in Kyrie's universe at all. It was just too weird not to play with, y'know? But it grew on me. Damn you, Ky. I guess it's set more or less a couple of years after the end of Retribution Nor Redemption. Enjoy, I hope. **_Do not read_**, however, if you've got a really narrow view of relationships or sexuality (keep the other two stories in mind, in other words--Kyrie and Rodger have been together for a long time and they're very secure in one another). You might get warped. Heh heh.   
Also Note: In the interest of... well, myself, really, this is written under the theory that "demon" is a term that incorporates all hellspawn--"devil" is used specifically for a humanoid, intelligent, "higher demon". So all devils are demons, but demons are not devils. Just in case there's any confusion. 

_**WARNING!!!** This chapter contains descriptions of free sexual thought and sexual circumstances of which the more sensitive and/or vanilla of you should not be reading. It may warp one's poor mind. No, seriously. If you can't handle it, don't read it._   
  
  
  


Descendants of the Mundane   
Chapter 4   
by Orin Drake 

Reclined in the comfy sofa in the corner of Kyrie's office, feet up on the windowsill, a cup of ice cold... cola of some sort in his hand, John lazily pondered just how freaking cushy of a job she had. Yeah sure she'd been on the computer system for about two and a half hours murmuring curses every few minutes, trying to get all of the proper channels cleared so that... well, he'd kind of stopped listening at that point. All he knew was that the leaders of two countries were being assholes and she was selected to deal with it for the moment.   
That much was incredibly funny. Or would be, if she were capable of being humored at that moment. Of _all_ the people in the world to place into a job like that, she was definitely _the_ worst choice. If she lost it, just once, just for a moment... well, she could frankly cause a war. And Vincent _must_ have known that.   
But no. She had to go and accidentally lose all of his suits. And how in bloody hell had that happened? That thought actually made her pause, losing all track of what she was doing. Not that she really cared at this point. The dignitaries from both countries would be right there, in the palace, in a matter of minutes. At least, they were _supposed_ to be.   
Rodger hadn't paged her to let her know they'd arrived, though. He would certainly be with Laguna the whole time, so his contact would be her cue to go listen to the arguing. Again. Rah.   
She sighed deeply, glaring at the screen as though it were her mortal enemy. And it was. Oh how it was. She was starting to fantasize about ripping the computer straight out of the console unit and drop-kicking it out the window when her cell phone blipped with the page indicator.   
_Just enough rage to get pumped._ She smirked, taking a look at the little screen on the phone. Sure enough, there was Rodger's message: "**They're here. Breathe. Good luck.**"   
Just about as comfortable as he had ever been, John cast her a lazy look. Well, he may as well follow along and be amused. So she hoped. "Want to see what my job really amounts to?" she offered flatly.   
"Definitely." He agreed, letting his feet simply fall from the window sill--causing a catapult effect that threw his body out of the chair without any work on his part.   
She grinned at his display. For a demon hunter, he sure did know a lot about the finer arts of reclining and effortless de-reclining. "You just follow me. And under no circumstances say a word."   
"Afraid I'll get you fired?" he teased, keeping close down the hall.   
"Not quite." She admitted, glad he was along for the ride. "A single word has been known to get them to argue for an extra hour."   
Hm. Maybe the job wasn't quite as cushy as he thought.   


The conference room was notably different from the rest of the building--by the thick sense of doom in the air. Alright, maybe it wasn't that bad, but close enough to count. Kyrie had gotten almost too used to the feeling of tension, hardly aware that all eyes fell straight on her and her companion as they entered. But no words. Oh hell no. She'd learned her lesson; silence for as long as possible and maybe something would be signed. Hell, she didn't even bother bringing any paperwork of her own, anymore. What was the point when it was always a yelling match? There wasn't even a reason to have a secretary take notes; the last one had left the room in a frustrated state, taking the day off and returning only under the condition she never have to be in that room again.   
Rodger was very careful to be subtle about his invitation, catching John's eye and using only the slightest of movements to welcome the boy to sit next to him. Kyrie took her selected place, to the right side of the head of the table. The head, of course, was to be taken by the president himself, with Vincent already sitting to the left and across from Kyrie. Next to them, albeit a couple of seats further down, were the immaculately dressed and infamous arguers, somehow still managing to sit across from one another in an almost civil sort of way. Still further down, several spaces away, was where the boys dwelled--within sprinting distance to the outside. It had started as a joke, but Rodger had wondered more and more...   
Laguna nodded, Kiros standing at his side, and sat. And that's all it took.   
The switch was tripped instantly. Some accusations flew, though of what nature was no longer comprehensible. Not like it mattered anyway. Kyrie sat back with a dulled look on her face and waited for silence enough to daydream, while her grandfather was busy trying not to sigh audibly. Not like anyone would hear it over the ranting anyway.   
_Wow._ John kept to himself. He'd thought she was just... well, he supposed he should already know better. But... wow. Not even Hell operated quite like this. Everyone else at the table seemed just as disgusted, but not surprised. They even looked to the point of boredom, really.   
Maybe it was the new friend she'd gained. Maybe it was that all too subtle smirk on Vincent's face when she made eye contact. Or maybe... she'd just had enough. As delicately as she dared (which honestly wasn't very), she spoke up over the childish rambling, "It's hardly worth the time and effort to bring the two of you together if this is always the result."   
_Click._ Almost audible, and certainly obvious. Everyone felt it, just as easy as sliding a puzzle piece into place. She'd initiated armageddon.   
The man in the dark blue suit turned to her, looking aghast that she should say such a thing to _him_. The other one, in the black suit, looked equally shocked--enough to speak directly to her. "Excuse me, Mrs. Kinneas, but this is a worldly issue."   
Oh _fuck_ this. She stood up, her voice very soft, very calm. Against the sudden silence, however, it seemed to carry much farther. It was times like these when the Almasy side shone through. "Here's an idea, gentlemen. Coming from quite the 'worldly' place."   
The room regarded her. The world regarded her. The people that actually knew her had stopped breathing entirely. Only Vincent allowed himself the slightest movement; a mild quirk of his lips.   
She continued in a soft tone, steadily rising into something that resembled calm yelling. It was too soft and too "gentle" to really _be_ yelling, but... it was certainly close enough. "Why don't the both of you stop acting like spoiled children with your wooden block countries and plastic people? Have you any idea how disgusting it is to see two adults, in charge of countries so powerful, put on a whining bitch-show for the rest of us? Maybe you ought to watch yourselves on the security footage once in a while. Hyne knows I can hardly stomach being here when it happens, and I'm quite good at ignoring people. So here's an idea--shut _up_, agree to disagree, and sign the fucking papers already."   
Absolute silence. Utter, complete, and absolute silence. A wave of shock fumbled, then seemed to settle like a fog all around the dignitaries. Kyrie only sat back down as if nothing had happened, politely folding her hands on the table in front of her. Oh well. She'd successfully caused a war. Squall might well be proud; Seifer sure as hell would be.   
The dignitaries, however, did not look so calm. In fact, there was a... twitching sort of anger apparent. First one lifted, shakily, and then the other. They looked at one another evenly, no doubt sizing the other up for war.   
And then the miracle happened. Maybe not so much a miracle as a stroke of luck so stupid, so impossible, that it couldn't have been real. But dammit, there it was; a tentative handshake. A fucking _handshake_. Who made the first move and whatnot was completely unimportant--a shake. An agreement. The papers would be signed in another room entirely for security issues, but... there it was. On security video. With several witnesses.   
Laguna was so taken aback by the entire situation that it took Kiros' elbow in his gut to bring him to the active present. Finally "awake", so to speak, he cleared his throat and made a desperate attempt at a presidential tone. "If you'll follow me, gentlemen. The document is this way."   
The room cleared quite fast--that is, of everyone involved in the signing process. Kyrie still remained seated for the moment, breathing. The two boys were still a little too... shaken to do so much as stand. And then there was Vincent, still sitting calmly across from her; waiting.   
At long last, it was the "miracle worker" who broke the silence herself. "Well. That was... great." Her enthusiasm was nowhere near her voice at that moment, however.   
"Impressive." Vincent agreed, gathering a small pile of various paperwork from where Laguna had left it (too shocked to have remembered it, no doubt). He'd have to be there for the actual signing, himself. There had been a reason he'd stayed behind for a moment, though...   
"Okay. I'm going home early." Kyrie announced, getting up and walking directly toward the door. She thought that she'd earned that much at least. The boys followed her initiative, finally breaking the spell and standing.   
"And, Ky." Vincent called quietly, standing.   
She raised an eyebrow at his tone. He usually wasn't one to call her softly, that was for sure. Regardless, she pulled away from her little clique for a moment and approached him along his side of the table carefully. "Yes?"   
His tone was utterly gentle. "They never got lost."   
Blankness. A blink. What did he me--click--_his suits never got lost to begin with?!_ Her eyes narrowed dangerously. "You are an asshole, Vincent."   
All he did was smile in that all too soft and dangerous way, straighten his papers, and exit the room via the door the dignitaries had already passed through. Not a word, not a second of love lost.   
Controlling a physical outburst on some unwitting piece of furniture by a single thread of what resembled willpower, she turned back to the boys with a set jaw. Vincent had not lost his suits. Meaning _she_ had not lost them. Further meaning there was no _reason_ to have been placed into that situation between two countries to begin with. It was a whim. A mother fucking _whim_ of that goddamn _bastard_...   
She sighed shortly, eyes set on nothing in particular as she began walking, annoyed beyond compare. She could not deny how effective his choice had been. He'd known she would lose it eventually. He had to have. And that's why he placed her there in the first place. But she never would have agreed to it if he hadn't created some situation...   
John opened his mouth--but Rodger shook his head quickly. Okay, so no words. At all. In fact, he made sure to breathe very quietly, very slowly.   


After they had been waiting on the train for a couple of minutes in absolute silence, only then did Kyrie finally let out a breath and relax her shoulders. She just... needed a moment, there.   
The brunette gave an almost imperceptible nod. So, John threw caution to the wind and tried his best. "Well... at least you were effective."   
Her answering smirk was more cutting than her own gunblade--but she appreciated the effort. "Apparently it was that."   
Rodger grinned but decided not to comment. There was no need, really. That Vincent... he was one devious son of a bitch, alright. The ball was in her court, now... and he was certain she would concoct something truly horrible to get back at him.   
The doors slid shut and the train finally began to move. It was at that point John felt his curiosity swell. "Not that it's any of my business..." he began, almost timidly, "But... this Vincent guy..."   
"Is an asshole." Kyrie finished for him; though at least this time she was grinning. Very little, but enough.   
Well, he was rather starting to agree with that. But how to say this... He definitely knew she wasn't the sort of girl to take shit. But it seemed like she refused to take shit from anyone _but_ this demonic freak. And neither of them seemed to see it; or, if so, didn't mind it. The guy just... rubbed him the wrong way, maybe. Opening his mouth to ask a truly sincere, caring, poetically inclined question; "What's up with him?"   
Alright, she had to admit that the inquiry seemed heartfelt. Even that he actually cared about the response. But it was weird to talk about Vincent like this. So, she avoided the mushy stuff as well as she could. "He's not so bad."   
John raised an eyebrow, then looked at Rodger. The boy's only response was a shrug at first--but the silver tressed boy would _not_ let that slip by. He wanted to know, dammit--this was confusing, and he felt dangerously out of the loop. At last the brunette responded in a verbal manner, more serious than he'd been in a long damn time. "I know he really does... appear to be an asshole. But... he isn't."   
That was simply not a satisfactory enough answer. Before he had the chance to rephrase the question, however, Kyrie spoke up again. "What was your father like, John?"   
What wa--? How could she change the subject at a time like thi--_aaaaahhh._ "Kind of an asshole." He admitted with a slight grin.   
Rodger only raised his hand, included in that "father was an asshole sometimes" category. Things had since been patched up quite a bit, though. Irvine visited once in a while, and he and Selphie talked on the phone once a week or so. One doesn't exactly forget about the asshole qualities, however.   
"So... he's okay?" John felt it necessary just to make certain.   
"Yeah." She smiled, surprisingly... grateful. For... everything. "He just loves to push buttons."   
"Like someone else I know." The brunette teased, swiftly placing a hand upon her head and proceeding to muss her hair.   
She swatted the hand away firmly. "But _you_, on the other hand..."   
A... devious idea came into the half devil's mind. "Have you two ever..."   
Ah, how thoughts of absolutely wicked and "wrong" behavior in public places could travel. "The ride's too short." Rodger responded with a sigh.   
Kyrie rolled her eyes jokingly, getting another attempted hair mussing for her reaction. "And we'd probably be expected to pay for any repairs."   
Now that got John's mind rolling. Which was unfortunately made more clear by his sudden need to cross his legs in the tight jeans. Suddenly he hoped the ride wouldn't be _that_ short...   


Rodger sat reclined into the far corner of the sofa, one arm wrapped around his wife. Kyrie's upper body lay more or less across his chest, reclining into him. Her fingers were busy with delicate work, slowly being run through John's silver, silky hair as he lay halfway inclined upon her. And together they de-stressed in front of the television, commenting here and there, asking and answering questions, laughing when appropriate (for them, anyway).   
It was still pretty early. So TV sucked. But at least there was no work-related stress at home. And no one from the estate had called; undoubtedly Elle would hear about the happenings. And she'd worry. And then she'd call. And then she'd tell Quistis, who would worry and then also call. And after the matter seemed perfectly and utterly settled, Laguna would be the last to call and comfort/inquire. This eternal, never ending, perfectly calculated cycle somehow never actually annoyed Kyrie--it was just kind of... the way things were. Glancing at the time, however, she knew it might take a bit. All of the paperwork and such, and then keeping in mind how long it takes for word to travel when the interns block the hallways... "I'm going upstairs." She announced quietly--code.   
Her husband grinned, holding her tighter. "Need to let it all out, huh?"   
"Oh do I." She responded, trying to find the ticklish spot on his ribs so he'd let go. Not that the boy laying on her was helping matters much, remaining right where he was due to his desire to be comfortable as long as possible. Hey, he did like it when someone played with his hair, after all.   
Rodger continued to keep her firmly against himself, but she just kept on prodding his ribs. She did hate to leave the two of them alone, though. Especially without supervision. "Company is always welcome."   
_Mmm hmm._ John was getting the signal loud and clear all of a sudden. Although... well, really. He was a sex fiend, sure, but he knew they were a married couple. And, being so, they'd probably want time to themselves to be able to make lo--   
"John?"   
Kyrie's invitation was snapped up by the time he could finish the last ludicrous thought. "Yes." Not a question--a confirmation.   
"Okay then." She agreed. With the drive and sound of stampeding horses, they advanced immediately up the stairs and into the master bedroom.   


With the curtains drawn against the late afternoon light, the room took on an almost sadistically eerie glow. It was nice, though, making shadows long but not overly harsh. Rodger happened to note the way if made his wife's skin glow with a little gold tinge, and he grinned ever so innocently. She was quite beautiful like this... not to mention sexy. "Mind if I start off watching?"   
Kyrie gave him a joking smirk. "Oh, you're giving me the driver's seat?"   
"Whatever works for you." He quipped, feeling absolutely no shame about pulling his shirt off and flinging it across the room.   
Well. This was interesting, John thought from just inside the doorway. He knew it was _okay_ to enter--this wasn't "sacred ground" or anything. He just felt like it would be rude if he weren't granted permission.   
And permission there came, in the only form Kyrie could give. "Will you be in the audience or on stage tonight, Johnny boy?"   
The very question made him chuckle. "Little of both, maybe..." He really couldn't help but notice how quickly Rodger had settled into the small chair in the darkened corner between the nightstand and the desk, diagonal to the foot of the bed. Apparently this sort of thing was pretty common. Only tonight there'd be a slightly different show. "And what's our first act?"   
"Hopefully not tragedy." She answered almost seriously, removing--only her socks.   
Well, no self-respecting half-devil could have that, now. Not that he was one to judge, being fully clothed, himself. That was easy enough to take care of. Instead of flinging the articles far and wide, he let them settle in a little pile by his feet. Not shy at all.   
But Kyrie waited with a challenging little smile--the kind that had "devious bitch" written all over it. She made a theatrical sigh and stretched her arms over her head, waiting.   
John took the bait, and even managed to twist it a little. If _she_ wouldn't do it, then he'd just have to take matters into his own hands. Lunging for the bed, he grasped hold of her shirt and pulled it quickly over her head. The button of her jeans took a little longer than expected, but he wasn't exactly human--it took a mere second to loosen their hold and yank them down her hips.   
It was an interesting thing to watch, certainly. Even Rodger in the most "hurried" of times couldn't have managed that kind of speed. He watched as even Kyrie seemed surprised about it, pinned down by the grinning form above her.   
But she did have her own tricks. Leaning in to give him a sultry kiss, she got his defenses down for _just_ long enough to gain a little leverage, using her legs to flip them over.   
In the middle of the turn, John very well could have stopped her. But then he'd have missed out on the kiss. It was far from the romantic sort--just the way he liked it. Being on bottom or not, he was thoroughly starting to enjoy himself.   
And then she reached to the side of the bed, pulling something from under the mattress... Aha. Cloud's gift. Her expression was teasing. "I _had_ wondered how you looked in this..."   
His lips exposed sharp pearl teeth in a large grin. "How about you try it on first?"   
He received a smirk for his effort. But then, it was only fair, she supposed. With barely a pause, she did as he suggested. Not too tight, but certainly enough to feel it, she was already liking this. It was a very soft leather on the inside, a little more firm on the outside, and just heavy enough to make sure you knew it was there. Cloud had better taste than she thought. More or less.   
"Alright, no fair." Came from the lurker in the shadows. "I wanna see."   
"You're not supposed to be here." Kyrie joked in refusal.   
A scoffing sound there came from the corner--but John was starting to get into this. It was almost... scary. "Be a good girl and turn around." He suggested all too softly with those teeth still exposed.   
She flashed him a look--half pitiful innocence and half absolute wickness--and did so, unashamed. Straddling the boy in reverse, she slowly stretched out her body then rose on her knees, doing a little motion she'd seen a stripper achieve on a television drama. All the while, she was _very_ careful _not_ to offer any friction. And just how far could she push?   
"Uh-uh." The half devil kept up his part, playfully swatting her on the ass. "You're _mine_ right now." He warned her against putting on too much of a show for someone who wasn't supposed to be there.   
This was... working. Rodger knew that tonight he might actually _see_ Hyne, if not stay and commune for a few moments. This whole thing was... wow was this ever... holy shit. The boy was good.   
Giving her husband a pleasant wink, she carefully turned again so that she was facing the deviant boy beneath her. "Fine..." she invited, letting herself be mostly submissive for the time being.   
He had the opportunity and wit about him to explore this time. And he sure as hell used it. Running his hands slowly along her smooth flesh, over her firm ass and along the sides of her hips, her waist, up her sides and feeling every cushioned rib, to her shoulders--and an evil thought crossed his mind as he got to the collar. He grasped the D ring with a single finger, pulling her down just forcefully enough not to give her a choice. As his lips attacked hers hungrily, he claimed his territory by grasping her breast.   
Allowed to pull away just enough to speak, Kyrie's voice was clearly rough with desire. Regardless, her personality shone through, challenging. "And just what do you think you're doing?"   
"Checking." He grinned with those sharp teeth, then claimed her mouth again, taking a short moment to check her pain tolerance.   
She jerked with the sudden, rough pinch of a nipple. _Bastard._ But oh, what a fun bastard.   
It was all Rodger could do not to make a noise. This was very hot stuff--and terribly amusing. His wife seemed to have found an equal in cruel, mind-fucking sex. Now that was funny. And... damn.   
"Hm." She returned shortly, meeting those bright blue eyes with narrowed crimson ones. "My turn yet?"   
How sweet, she was asking. Or seemed to be, anyway. He knew the illusion would be broken soon enough. "Fine, then." He granted, laying back. "Explore. As long as I let you."   
She grinned wickedly, taking his advice. She wasn't going to be the only one freely "used and abused", here. Not that she minded, considering the circumstances. It was the principle of the thing. And the fact she had this gorgeous thing underneath her, so very willing. Evil, but willing. She chuckled with that thought as she pulled back and leaned down to explore slowly downward on his taunt chest--she had a demon at her mercy. Well, not a _demon_ really, but, still. It was... lovely. A good sexy little power trip to indulge in.   
She had a little... practiced tactic up her sleeve, though. Rodger saw it coming, but John sure as hell didn't. He jerked, hissing quietly as the lightest, "gentlest" little pinch was placed in the... proper location on the underside of his scrotum.   
"Checking." She threw back at those playfully glaring ice blue eyes.   
"Check a little softer." He suggested.   
"Tell me..." her voice suddenly became velvety, sultry and soft like a good little servant. To add to the effect, her fingers ever so tenderly traced up and down along the inside of his thighs. "Would anything in half-demon blood be... dangerous?"   
Half of that had been a joking threat. He hoped it was a joke, anyway. But the other half--ah, he understood. And felt just a touch relieved. "You've got nothing to worry about."   
"But you, on the other hand..." that grin came back strong as she moved further down.   
Hm, how smart was this? He'd felt just how sharp those teeth were with his tongue... "No biting." He laid down the law playfully.   
A slight sound of amusement came from the corner. There's certainly one thing you didn't say to Kyrie and get away with--and she made sure he knew that. "Do you tend to heal quickly, John?"   
He chose not to answer--not that he could have, anyway. She attacked before he had the least opportunity to defend, sliding her tongue hard and slow down the length of his shaft--an instant before her mouth enveloped him entirely. Only one thought was coherent enough to acknowledge at that moment: _So _this_ is why a man will pay so much..._   
Her motions were slow and teasing, about half the pace she normally used on her husband. It was a glorious torture for both involved, until she felt the muscles under her hands stiffen. Perhaps only to prove who was really in charge, she pulled away and waited for his breath to recede slightly.   
And he could only give her a glare as he felt his heart rate level out a bit. Dammit, he'd been so close...   
"And how about your pain tolerance?" she asked ever so sweetly, hovering above him without contact as she'd done before.   
What a question. Though he wasn't quite sure where, exactly, she was going with this... "Oh, it's pretty damn high."   
"Really?" her eyes lit up at the very idea.   
Uh-oh. "Yes..."   
She paused only long enough to run the tip of her tongue over her sharp canines--leaning forward, into him, pressing herself completely against him and finding a delectable place on that lovely neck of his, just where the shoulder began. Her teeth sank effortlessly, drawing a gasp more than a cry. He stiffened again, moaning... Ah, a masochist. How utterly glorious.   
Of course, she neglected to understand he was also a sadist. He waited, patiently on the edge of oblivion, for her teeth to be withdrawn. Even then he could patiently wait for her to pull back and catch the look in his eyes--before striking. As it was in the demon world, blood for blood; he returned the "love bite" even as she tried to warn him against it. She tried, sure. But she lost her breath right after as they brought completion for one another.   
He could taste it. It seemed ridiculous to a point that he could taste such a thing given the circumstances, but... it was like taint. Not quite, not really, but... akin to it. Something that was not her own, but hers just the same. It wasn't a bad taste or anything, but... it was definitely there. The time for questions would come later, though. This was just too good--and he hadn't the mind about him to question it anyway.   
Bearing witness to this most pleasant of sights, Rodger had to fight to keep his eyes open as the pleasure ripped through him. This was just, too, good. The end had come quickly, but sweetly; and, quite apparently, he wasn't alone in that. He slumped backward, breathing heavily, wondering what the hell could top _that_, ever...   
"You are... a very... twisted girl..." John joked, catching his breath.   
"I have been told." She threw back, with no intention of getting up for another few moments.   
It's not as if he actually felt like _cuddling_ after sex (oh god, no), but... well... it was kind of nice to just sort of... let his arms rest against her back while they both recovered. Hey, she was soft, smelled good--there was no shame in that.   
"That's cuddling." She mock-accused, as if reading his thoughts.   
"Say that again and there's no second act." He threatened, letting the edges of his fingernails trace lines in her shoulders. She was a bit of a masochist herself, alright...   
"Second act?" she questioned as innocently as possible--and she was a good actress when she wanted to be.   
But John knew enough to see through it. With a vicious grin as bright in his eyes as it was across his lips, he made eye contact with the voyeur. Seeing that he had been acknowledged from the shadows, he made a quick invitation gesture with his free hand.   
Needing no further encouragement, Rodger took the game a little further. Normally, it would have taken him a few more minutes to get ready to go again--if such a situation "required" it. But this was just, so, fucking, _good_... He'd only read _stories_ like this before...   
Kyrie was still lazily recovering when she felt John's hand lightly stroke over her hair--then grasp gently, pulling her head up. Uh-oh. This was far from over. Come to think of it, from the feel of things, she was never really able to tell if he'd really taken a pause to begin with... That look in his glimmering eyes was just too devious.   
Although perfectly clear he was talking to Rodger, John retained eye contact with her. He wanted to see her response. "You should be able to fuck your own wife." He grinned darkly, finding himself enjoying this almost too much.   
A shiver moved through Rodger's body. Was this guy reading him or what? And did it matter in the least bit at that point in time? As a married couple who had been together for so long, who were so close where it really counted to begin with... he didn't need to ask. If she had any issues with the play during any time, she'd _let them know_. Possibly in bruises. "You're right." He responded matter-of-factly. "You hold her, I'll fuck her."   
Perhaps she should have felt offended--had she not known any better. And not been so completely turned on. Now this, this was a _fuuuuun_ game. So glad to have brought this one home. Oh yeah.   
"How do you want her?" John made his voice gruff, vicious, softly clasping his fingers harder around her hair. Not enough to really hurt, but certainly enough to give her a good indication of his intent. He really was almost too good at this. Truth was, he was just discovering how much he enjoyed it.   
Hyne but how she was helplessly enjoying herself, as well. Good thing no one else would ever see this. _Mental note: check for digital bugs--in the morning._ She just could not believe this. And she knew damn well Rodger was going to have one hell of a good time--it was sort of a fantasy. That they never had a third part to. Until now. And that third part was astoundingly attractive, completely willing to play along, and Kyrie herself just happened to be in the perfect submissive mood. Hell yes. She would inform Cloud at some point in the future that he could consider all video game-related debts paid in full--up to that point, anyway.   
What a fantastic question. Now he was starting to catch John's vicious grin. Well, since he'd asked... "Get her hands behind her back."   
Most thought more or less ceased for her right then. This was unbelievably good--the playful roughness of John pressing her against his chest, yanking her arms up and behind her... Yes. She was a twisted girl. But a _happy_ twisted girl. As soon as John delivered her hands, she felt a soft strip of velvet bind her hands at the wrists. It was really almost unfortunate that her husband's knot skills were so damn impressive. She'd have liked to have been able to wriggle out and surprise someone...   
There was clearly an unspoken signal exchanged between the two boys. And now she was feeling a little... nervous. Not unsafe by any stretch, but... not knowing what to expect never did sit well with her. Quite suddenly, Rodger's arms wrapped around her chest and pulled her back, while John slipped out from underneath her and busied himself over at the nightstand. Safety first--the half-demon's "spoils" were carefully wiped from her flesh before the game proceeded. But when it did... boy, did it.   
Everything more or less fell into a completely wonderful disarray. One of Rodger's hands slowly worked its way down her stomach and lower, while the other one sensuously wrapped around her throat and squeezed just tightly enough to give her the feel of it. She gasped in sudden sensory overload when both of John's hands rested on her hips, his lips grazing her breasts and a clear indication of his arousal on the softness of her lower thigh...   
It was kind of like an explosion. Not a rain of fire and debris, but like one of those huge fireworks that looks like it's going to keep getting bigger, as if it's trying to swallow you up and only at the last possible second, it leaves only some sparkles and a great, big, **_boom_**. Apologies for the game being so short-lived would have a chance to be passed back and forth at a later time. Somehow the three of them had wound up as a sweaty, panting mass on the floor.   
It took several good minutes for John's vision to focus again. Not that he gave a damn--it was just an interesting thing to take note of. Kyrie was still resting against him, gasping quietly. That much made him feel a little... concerned. Yes he'd enjoyed himself absolutely thoroughly, but... "You're... alright, right?"   
"Oh yeah." She confirmed, glad to know he was conscious enough to form thoughts. "Much, much better than that." She chuckled with short breaths. "John, thank you. Really. And if Rodger were awake, he'd thank you, too."   
"Hey." The brunette murmured--admittedly still weak-kneed and terribly drained from the whole glorious experience. So much so that he didn't even have the strength to untie his own knots, though his numb fingers had given it a good try. Good enough so that his wife could finally take matters into her own hands, the knots just loose enough for her to slip out of. Almost as a team, they turned to lay on their backs, not caring anything about getting off the floor. Hey, it was clean.   
The silver tressed boy grinned appreciatively. "Glad to be of help." Another thought passed through his mind; one that he didn't particularly want to give voice to in the afterglow, but... Well, he may as well ask. No harm in that. "Your... your blood, though..."   
Her almost unnoticeable sigh (it wouldn't have been heard with human ears) was enough to assure him she knew what he was inquiring about. Her response took a moment to form properly. "It's... a memento, of sorts."   
John opened his mouth to question further--cut off by a quiet growl from the other boy. Clearly this was not quite... the most comfortable thing to be talking about. He heard the subtle motion of her hand, flesh against flesh, gently sliding over Rodger's. With that, he let the subject drop for the moment.   
"There have been... bad times." Kyrie tried to keep a sense of humor in her voice.   
"Yeah." He agreed, _wanting_ to delve a little deeper... but now was probably just not the best time.   
"Hey..." she pondered out loud, "Why am I always the submissive?"   
Feeling a little more comfortable, Rodger answered naturally, "Because you're such a domineering bitch everywhere else, sweetheart."   
John was absolutely _certain_ the hand she lazily raised was going to at the very least disfigure him--but instead, she just whapped her husband lightly on the chest and chuckled. "Bastard."   
Amazing that two people could be that way toward one another. But it was more so amazing that a half-devil from another dimension would fit in so well among them. In fact... "I feel like pizza."   


Twenty minutes later, a call had been made for the pizza. A few minutes after that, everyone had officially taken a quick shower and were in the process of eating, when the phone rang.   
Kyrie stood by the kitchen phone, waiting for three rings to go by. It worked like this--less than three rings usually meant it was a telemarketer, realizing only then that they shouldn't be calling the granddaughter of the President of Esthar. Anything after two rings was usually worth picking up. On the third ring, she took a breath and answered, "Howdy."   
"I heard about your little 'incident'." Quistis started right away.   
Hm. This wasn't how things went at all. "What happened to Elle? I mean, hey Quisty."   
There was a joking harumph from her aunt. "Ellone is still in the process of trying to assure your grandfather that he wasn't dreaming when you told those morons what for."   
"Why thank you." Kyrie grinned serenely, giving her boys in the living room a thumbs-up. "I didn't scare him, did I?"   
"I hardly think that's possible." Quistis giggled. "You did shock some other people, indirectly. But who cares about them."   
Oh how she did love her aunt. "And how goes things with you?"   
"Oh, good!" she responded enthusiastically. "Michael bought me a dozen white roses last night."   
"Romantic."   
"Yeah." There was a pause. "The problem was, they were delivered next door."   
The darling niece tried so hard to keep herself from laughing at that. Michael was a dear man that her aunt had been dating recently. He really was great, and part of the Trabia Garden teaching staff--but he was a little absent-minded. Okay, a lot absent-minded. He was what her aunt liked to call, "_severely_ slightly attention deficit"; but his heart was in the right place, and he was a sincerely good guy. Hell, if _she_ liked him... "That's still sweet."   
"He tries." She agreed. The shift of gears was almost audible. "And I hear tell of this John Sparda..."   
Hyne did news travel fast. She wondered exactly who told her... "'Tell', you say?" she avoided swiftly.   
There was a pause on the other end, of which Kyrie knew would be filled with a searching, raised eyebrow had her aunt actually been in the room. "So long as he's... a 'good kid'."   
_Oh, he's far from that..._ she kept to herself. "He is."   
"Alright." Quistis agreed. That seemed to have been her most important topic of conversation. "Well, I really just wanted to make sure you weren't suffering any adverse effects of letting those grade schoolers in suits have it."   
"None thus far." She assured. "We'll see what tomorrow holds."   
"Go in late." Her aunt advised. "You earned it."   
"Okay." Who was she to argue with such sage advise?   
The woman laughed softly with such an easy response. "I shudder to think what's in store for Mr. Valentine... but let me know when you think of it, anyway."   
"Will do, Quisty." She promised. "I just might need your help for this, anyway."   
"Any time." She agreed. "Take care, Kyrie. And Rodger, too. And John, I suppose."   
How... strangely funny. "You, too. Make sure Michael doesn't step into any more traffic."   
There was a fond sigh on the other end. "I'll see what I can do." 


	5. Chapter 5

Descendants of the Mundane and the general overall concept of Descendants of the Mundane is entirely copyright Orin Drake 2003, as are the characters Kyrie (Almasy Leonhart Kinneas), Rodger Kinneas, and John Sparda. Obviously everyone else has been taken from various Final Fantasy games and Devil May Cry, and other people own those. But you ought to know that by now, right?   
Background: It was a stupid idea I came up with while playing Devil May Cry. I mean, come on. Daughter of Squall meets son of Dante. It sounded so rediculously funny that I just had to. So I did. In the beginning, this wasn't meant to be serious, or even to actually exist in Kyrie's universe at all. It was just too weird not to play with, y'know? But it grew on me. Damn you, Ky. I guess it's set more or less a couple of years after the end of Retribution Nor Redemption. Enjoy, I hope. **_Do not read_**, however, if you've got a really narrow view of relationships or sexuality (keep the other two stories in mind, in other words--Kyrie and Rodger have been together for a long time and they're very secure in one another). You might get warped. Heh heh.   
Also Note: In the interest of... well, myself, really, this is written under the theory that "demon" is a term that incorporates all hellspawn--"devil" is used specifically for a humanoid, intelligent, "higher demon". So all devils are demons, but demons are not devils. Just in case there's any confusion. 

_**WARNING!!!** This is yet another chapter that contains descriptions of free sexual thought and sexual circumstances of which the more sensitive and/or vanilla of among should not be reading. It may warp one's poor mind. No, seriously. If you can't handle it, don't read it._   
  
  
  


Descendants of the Mundane   
Chapter 5   
by Orin Drake 

"She chastise you?" Rodger joked after the phone was hung back on the wall.   
"Terribly." Kyrie responded, diving right back into the pizza.   
"And Michael's still breathing?" he continued, grinning.   
"As far as she was aware at the time she called." He was a great guy, he really was. He just needed to be watched quite often. A challenge for her aunt, certainly... Speaking of challenges, she turned to John and regarded him for a short moment. "You must meet my aunt sometime."   
The boy tried his best not to look too worried about the suggestion. More of her family... well, not that he minded. He was just... concerned. He'd heard enough about this woman to know she'd be quite "interesting". "Oh. Kay."   
Rodger couldn't help a chuckle at that reaction. It was pretty much expected.   


Once again they found themselves in front of the television--only this time, it was a winner-takes-all video game extravaganza. At first it had only been a few old, simple side-scrollers just to test out John's range of ability. But a half-devil needed _something_ to entertain himself with when not in fear for his life; he turned out to be quite expert in hand-eye coordination.   
It was when John absolutely kicked Kyrie's ass at a combat fighter that had jaws dropping--well, Rodger's and Kyrie's, anyway. The silver-tressed newcomer looked just as easy and pleased as ever. Maybe a little too much.   
The recently defeated lowered her head for one moment before speaking, low and theatrical, "Vincent must never know of this ability."   
John grinned to the point where his canines glimmered. "Yes, Ma'am."   
Ah, that made things a little... nicer. "That's right." She shot back, jokingly. "Treat me right, boy."   
Rodger sat back against the sofa and watched with a little too much enjoyment. He had no idea where this was going, but he knew it'd be amusing as hell.   
"Well, then." John's voice had lowered, become a breathy, wicked little treat for her. "I suppose I should let you in on the secret."   
Her eyebrow raised, but her expression was a difficult smirk. No words could ever have been more effective than the look she jabbed him with.   
And to that, he only responded with a larger grin. He waited, biding his time until she was just on the verge of opening her mouth--"Button mashing."   
Instinctually, Rodger winced just a little bit. He was so fucking sure she was going to hit him--not seriously, of course. But enough. He just felt it coming... probably mostly from when he'd done and said things to drive her to that edge, himself. Hey, they both loved to strike one another's nerves every once in a while.   
Thank whatever powers were out there that John saw it coming. He was quite certain, as he grasped the wrist coming at him, that she never would have _hurt_ him, per se. She still had that amused but devious smirk across her face, and the force she'd have struck him with would have been hardly more than to roll an unaware person backward, but... this was more fun. The more he hung around, the more comfortable he got--and the more he learned to enjoy himself. "Tell you what."   
He could not hold it anymore. Rodger started laughing at the whole situation.   
His wife cast him a wicked glance--but not before a chuckle broke out of her, too. She attempted to retain her composure for the rest of what devil-boy was suggesting, however.   
John was very careful to plan out exactly when to speak, and how low and soft to do so. "Best two out of three. Winner gets 'control'."   
Now this was a very interesting proposition. "Absolute control?" she kept her voice just as soft and mock-sweet as the boy that still had light hold of her wrist--and was clearly enjoying it.   
"Complete and absolute." He assured, very much liking this game. Might as well live it up as much as he possibly could, right?   
"Fine." She agreed quietly, retrieving her wrist back to her side. All she needed was a little motivation.   
Never one to understand the complete draw of sports, Rodger suddenly found that he more or less got it. Or at least one version of it. This was utterly fascinating; he _needed_ to know how it would end. He'd even have said so, if he weren't so concerned that voicing it wouldn't suddenly end this most interesting of competitions he had ever seen. And that was saying a lot. He had once seen a very drunken Cloud and a very "slightly less than sober" Quistis complete in a "straight line walking contest". Now that, _that_, was priceless.   
The war began with no more words. A new game was started at three rounds, characters were selected, and the three second countdown came up on the screen.   
Kyrie struck first, her button-pressing instincts right on target with an uppercut. John countered almost instantly--there was a flurry of button mashing, crunching and shouting sound effects, and pixelated blood. Fingers moved wildly. Adrenaline surged. Thirty seconds later, Kyrie's chosen character was on the ground, twitching.   
John's cocky grin never left. "Another character, maybe?" he suggested innocently.   
She glared at him in silence. Time to bring out the big guns. "Alright, fine. I'll take you up on that." Maybe the element of surprise was in order. She chose a petite female character in hopes she could get a good surprise factor going.   
The boy only kept his expression, starting the next round. What he did not expect was this particular petite character's first move--leaving his character in a puddle of blood. Second round over at 3.45 seconds.   
It was Kyrie's turn to grin wickedly. "It's called the 'Crotch Split Triple Kick Combo'." She informed innocently. "I am informed it's technically a game glitch, but I thought it was perfectly fair."   
Rodger found himself placing a hand over his mouth so that he would not make enough noise to interrupt. The look on the other boy's face at his wife's words were... ah. Just great. Magnificent. It was nice to see her vicious playful nature being hammered into someone else for a change.   
Once the numbness passed out of John's emotional core, he had to force himself to relax again. Oh, she was not one to be trifled with, was she? Not in the realm of video games... His voice was calm, soft, hiding underneath it a volley of hellfire as though he were talking to a hapless child that had just seriously pissed him off. "Alright. We both get one more character switch for the last round."   
With a nod, his opponent agreed. "Want a drink first?" her tone was ever so gentle, ever so wonderfully calm.   
"No." His response was more matter-of-fact than cold--but it was certainly _final_.   
But this was not the end of things. Not for her. "Well then mind if I have one--"   
The boy's eyes almost seemed to take on the same color as Kyrie's. "No drink. Just play."   
The tiny bit of control Rodger thought he had, snapped in a heartbeat. He grasped a pillow from the side of the sofa and covered his face, laughing hysterically.   
A sideways grin lit her face--both at her husband's reaction and at John's. Perhaps they both knew more than they let on. She'd gotten one very important, slightly alcoholic tidbit from her aunt that aided in making her the video game player she ultimately became--one shot. One shot, any alcohol, drink slowly. You'll never need more; one shot is all the mind and muscles need to be able to leave most "logic" behind and function on instinct. In the case of video games, instinct became hand-eye coordination. And, to even Kyrie's surprise, Quistis' solution to acquiring even the most difficult of successes worked.   
Perhaps John knew that. Or perhaps that very mild twitch under his eye was indication that he just wanted to get this thing over with. Either way, his opponent once again nodded her agreement. With that, the utterly silent boy chose another character that looked like a good mid-range bloke, and waited.   
Somehow finding the desire to make this last occasion completely "fair", the challenged selected the same character with a costume change. There, fair's fair. Now they were both on the same level. This one would be sudden death.   
The countdown commenced on the screen amidst the muffled laughter still emanating from behind them. 3... 2... 1...   
John leapt toward his nemesis with a flaming kick of death--only to find that his enemy had taken two backflips and was waiting for him on the side of the screen. So. If she couldn't fight dirty, she'd just have to avoid confrontation altogether. Well, he was game. In a move of utmost and complete cocky certainty, certain that her character was too far away to do any major damage, he made a show of _dropping the controller in his lap_.   
Were she to ever have been a "real lady", she'd have asked him if he was sure about that. She'd have grilled him, teasingly, as to whether or not he thought that was really a smart move--but screw it. This was for control. She hadn't gotten to where she had without learning Vincent's exceptionally cruel and dirty tricks. The character that John had himself selected, had a special move that not even she would have remembered; had it not been for this moment, this time, this place, this utmost perfection--   
Rodger's astonished gasp, peeking over the pillow, was drowned out by the sound of the final bell. It all happened too fast, so fast even the lightning fast devil hunter hadn't realized it in time to grasp the controller again, saving himself from a fate so horrendous...   
Kyrie sat back comfortably, placing the controller in front of her on the floor as though it were a cherished and revered item. Her words were quiet, delicate. "The booklet called that move a Spin and Slash. But I have since come to know it as the Across the Screen Rocket Disemboweler." With a deep breath and a sense of accomplishment, she whispered, "I win."   
At this point, her husband was a shaking, sobbing/laughing, helpless entity stretched across the couch. This was all so wickedly... beautiful.   
John opened his mouth to react, but his brain could form no words. Defeated. Absolutely and completely defeated. Disemboweled and gushing blood in the background as battle stats and credits rolled in front, a quiet ending theme hurting just that much more.   
But--wait a second. Really, just... wait a second. It's not like he'd actually lost anything terribly important here. So control was hers. It was... frightening in one respect, sure. But quite pleasing in another. He looked at her expectantly, all of the ferocious competition sloughing off like water.   
She gave him an appreciative grin, trying to figure out just what she should do with her power. Really, she should go upstairs and get the collar... but fuck that. Quite literally. She didn't want to leave just yet. "Well, boy," she dared, "Take 'em off."   
Exactly _why_ he was surprised about the suddenness of her request, he wasn't sure. She was a regular machine when it came to these matters. Not that he minded... "Here? Now?"   
"Oh yeah." Somehow the fact her husband was still helpless with amusement behind her just made this feel all the more... interesting. This was what sex was, this was what sex was supposed to be--hilarious and life affirming. Or, well, something like that.   
Not that Rodger didn't want to be a part; but his stomach hurt. A fact made more interesting when he heard his wife utter quietly, "I'll be right with you." Right before he felt an intrusive warmth in a very established, practiced location.   
Somehow laughter and sex seemed to go together. At least, that much was quite apparent from Rodger's almost immediate reaction to her very crude physical advance. Even as she watched John teasingly take his _goddamn sweet time_ getting up, let alone trying to discover a new and very slow way to get out of his shirt, she heard her husband's laughter grow increasingly quiet.   
Shirt finally off, John marveled at the sight in front of him. Never in a million years... "What about you?" he asked casually, trying to draw out his performance as long as possible. At least he could try to get back at her.   
"What _about_ me?" she grinned, making a particularly accurate and lengthy movement with her hand that succeeded in silencing the giggles altogether--with a gasping moan. She was just a little too familiar with the "landscape". Which really only gave her more devious ideas...   
Again, the shirtless boy tried his best to be casual about the whole thing. "Well, I know you _won_, oh Mighty Highness. But, seeing as how I have no shirt and you still do... can't you afford me a peek?"   
_What a fucking gentleman._ She smirked. "Well, alright. But you'll have to take over for me."   
The body underneath her touch went absolutely stiff--but not with anything resembling a negative reaction. In fact, he was damn glad he still had a pillow to curse into. As for John... well, he looked mildly surprised... though certainly not phazed. It was simply a reminder of a fact he'd discovered long ago; he was a hedonist. Pleasure was pleasure, no matter the form. He was very much aware that the pleasure these people had to offer him were well worth the "energy".   
Needless to say, she was quite pleased to see the silver haired boy kneel beside her, ready and willing to fulfill the wager won scant seconds earlier. Hell, the ending music was still playing, repeating eternally in the background. She demonstrated a rhythm to the best of her ability, then left it to "the pros".   
Without so much as a pause, John took over. Kink was good--kink was _great_. Kink made the world go 'round. This was definitely a new experience...   
There was just _something_ about being jerked off by another male, actually. Being touched by someone with the same "hardware" carried a little more than just kink--as well as his wife knew him, she could only know so much about the male body. ...And of course there was still that glorious kink factor.   
Kyrie wasted no time. In a flurry of movements that would have made her clothes-flinging husband envious (had he been able to pay attention), she was completely nude in the living room. Not that such a thing had never happened before, of course. Though, this time was a little... different. That much out of the way, she kneeled back at the couch and watched hungrily. It was a little hard to believe this whole thing was happening...   
John's dazzlingly bright blue eyes fell expectantly on her--but he found that devious grin playing across her features again. After all, _she_ had won. _She_ had won _control_. That meant, frankly, she was probably going to use it to torture the hell out of him.   
Granted she was a vicious, cruel and callous bitch when she had to be. But, seeing the realizing stare that met her grin, she supposed she didn't _have_ to play that way. With a practiced move that could only have been completely realized by John wearing a pair of Rodger's pants, she reached down and popped the button, slowly guiding the zipper all the way down. And then, of course--she stopped.   
Even though he could have had several words with her for that kind of behavior, a little tease wasn't really all that bad. Not that he'd ever admit it. He gave her that wicked cocky smile, titling his head to indicate the area below his stroking hand. "Care to work your magic again?"   
While all coherent thought had been drained from the situation, Rodger had a mild clue in the back of his mind as to what was going on. He sure as hell felt the sudden looseness of his pants, taking a breath as warm flesh slid down his navel--and with a cooing groan, he understood it was not his wife's.   
All at once, the universe decided to catch them by the throat and shake--the phone rang. It seemed like an impossible happening, something that just should never occur to begin with; but certainly not now, not after all of this and the promising things to come...   
With a glare to the heavens, Kyrie was the one elected to get the receiver. Instead of bothering with the one in the kitchen, she made a long stride on all fours like a cat, grasping the cordless on the far end of the living room. Glancing at the caller ID screen on the back, she found herself highly amused. "Oh, Rodger..."   
This time, the moan was not so filled with pleasure. It was agonizing, in fact. Especially when the warm hand made a retreat--first giving a teasing squeeze. He supposed, in his clouded state of mind as he flailed to sit up and grasp the offered phone, it was good she hadn't picked it up. Regardless of who was on the other end, if they'd heard his sound of agony, they'd have most assuredly would have called authorities. Taking a glance at the screen himself, he felt... stupefied. With a quick look at the other two, both looking back just as innocent as if they were both fully dressed, he cleared his throat and pressed the answer button. It was a struggle to keep his voice level. "M-Mom. Oh yeah, hi."   
Kyrie chuckled lowly; John bit his lip so he wouldn't laugh at all. But the two of them sure as hell didn't _stop_. Or, at the very least, Kyrie didn't--she quickly scooted behind the boy and started to peel the rest of his clothes off.   
Rodger looked like he ached all over--with a pleasant half-smile. He loved his mother dearly, of course. But she could have called tomorrow, maybe... "No, not at all. We were just relaxing." The half-smile became a bright grin a moment later. "Oh yeah. Ky sure handled that situation today, alright..." He knew he couldn't look at her. If he saw what his mind told him was unfolding right next to him, he'd probably hurl the phone out the window...   
"Yeah." He went on pleasantly, as if he didn't hear the clothing being thrown across the room. "That'd be great. Next week, maybe." The look on his face suddenly became a cross between pain and sick amusement. "He's, uh... a friend. Of Ky's. Yeah. No, he's... yeah. That's about right..."   
John barely heard the assurances; he was staring with wide eyes up the stairs, to where his "partner" had just darted off without notice. Seconds later, she emerged from her bedroom, strolling casually with her hands folded behind her back as though she weren't in all of her naked glory, about ready to live out some terribly fun experiences. Having handled a gunblade for several years gave her some excellent upper body strength, not to mention coordination and good distance judging--as she approached the first stair, she flung he arm out and threw the object previously hidden behind her like a frisbee.   
_Aaaahh..._ John caught the collar easily on his first finger. Acting as smooth as he dared, he simply let the object loop around until it fell by it's own accord over his arm. Though he certainly wasn't about to do any extra work--_she'd_ won, after all.   
It was at that point Rodger was getting desperate--but he tried so hard not to let it in his voice. This was his _mother_, and he did really love her, and she was talking about important things like meeting with Irvine for dinner again sometime soon... but really, couldn't she just call back later?   
Taking her sweet time, Kyrie finally made it down the stairs and back beside "the loser of the tournament". By that time he had positioned himself to sit on his haunches with his legs tightly together, between the sofa and the television, facing her. Waiting. Ready, with a wry smirk.   
A sudden opportunity in the conversation finally gave Rodger the opening he needed. "Well, we were kind of planning to... uh... yeah. Okay, Mom. I love you, too. Talk to you tomorrow." Only when the receiver was off did he let relief wash over him. With the vision of his wife placing the collar around John's neck... well, that was that. Fuck modesty--he tugged his shirt off and quickly stepped out of his pants. The hell he was missing out on this.   
The recently collared boy took a moment to appreciate the feel of the article around his neck. This was... a new situation, to be sure. He certainly always fancied himself as more dominant, but... well, he could see that couldn't possibly always be the case with the other two around. Hey, variety was the spice of life and so forth.   
Kyrie actually stood up and took a few steps back, admiring her captive. Hyne but he looked damn fine. "Very nice." She oversimplified.   
Rodger cleared his throat. "And, uh, as for where we left off..."   
"I was getting to that." His wife grinned. "_I won_, remember."   
He put his hands up jokingly. "Okay, fine. You're driving."   
Only the most sadistic, devious expression crossed her face. Instead of physically taking charge... she sat straight down in front of the sofa, laying back on her elbows without the least bit of shame. "Okay. You two, on the couch. Let's see some action."   
The two boys... looked at one another. Neither of them had ever done this before. All John could respond with was, "Uh..."   
Rodger snickered quietly, walking to the selected area and sitting down (without exposing the cushions to _too_ much of his ass). "I'm game."   
Clearing his throat, the silver tressed boy agreed. "Me, too. But... I don't want to be on the bottom." He grinned wickedly at that sentiment actually having passed his lips so easily.   
The brunette seemed to be considering that for the first time. "Hm. Me either."   
Kyrie made a joking, exasperated sigh. "Fine, fine. Just sit together then, hm?"   
Well, John could do that. He lifted for a moment and rearranged himself a little closer to the center. The two boys gave one another knowing looks before turning their attention back to the "mistress".   
"Oh come on." She joked, looking very comfortable on the floor. "You weren't biding your time earlier."   
"Well, we weren't _expected_ to do anything then." Rodger made the excuse sound as plausible as he could, just to see if he could goad her. That was a fun game in itself, as John had recently discovered.   
She sighed as though the whole world were suddenly placed upon her, then invited herself to sit between them. "Then I'll start for you." She offered kindly, giving her husband just the slightest press of lips against his.   
Before he had the chance to return it, however, she had already teasingly moved to the other. It was simply her luck that she was gifted with the ability to kiss exceedingly well, as John found out quickly. Before he had the chance to turn his body toward her in mindless hedonistic glory, however, she was already moving away. From John's lips of cinnamon fire, she crossed back to Rodger's, of mint and ice. They were _flavors_, all astoundingly overcoming her senses. As she finally pulled away back to her place on the floor, the two of them seemed to take on her initiative. What the hell--they were already that close anyway. John was first to connect--a little unsure at first but loosening up quickly.   
Kyrie laid back on her elbows again, and thought she might just fucking _explode_. Hyne but this was... just... shit. This was so much better than she'd ever imagined. They'd moved closer, their bodies bucking rhythmically against one another, arms entwined if only to give feel and friction to the more sensitive nether portions, their lips moving, tangling, fighting for better position with the thoughtless, lusting fervor of new lovers...   
She gasped, possibly for the first time in her life trying to _stave off_ the orgasm. She hadn't even started touching herself--this was incredible. Beyond anything she'd ever dreamed or imagined--even beyond the (extensive) artwork she'd been witness to. This, was... impressive. All it took after the extended minutes of watching such a gloriously beautiful scene, was Rodger's telltale muffled shriek--   
Like dominoes. One after the other, sound and motion shattering as the only coherent _thing_ that existed was exceptional pleasure.   
The room filled with that feeling, and all was silent. Eventually, bits and tatters of heavy breath came through the sleepy haze. Little by little, the three of them recovered by some miracle. Actual _thought_ fumbled to get a hold of the situation. It took a great deal of doing to get the mind working again.   
"How was that?" Rodger finally panted, finding himself draped over one end of the couch.   
There was another long pause in which breathing was the only sound. "Holy... fucking... Hyne... and a half..." she murmured weakly from the floor.   
One leg having fallen off the couch sometime between "now and then", John found himself draped over the opposite end from Rodger. He felt too exhausted to open his eyes, let alone talk--but, as his father had once said, it seemed his mouth never did get tired. "Everyone... have a good... time?"   
"I think..." Kyrie began the painfully long process of trying to sit up and catch her breath, "I can honest... honestly answer... 'Yes'." Ah, screw sitting. Laying was okay.   
They laid there collectively, albeit separated, for a good fifteen minutes before anyone had the desire to speak again. This time, it was Rodger's turn. Straight to the point: "I'm really tired."   
His wife laughed quietly. "I'm glad." After a moment's thought, she added, "Me, too. Good work, John."   
The boy lazily made a saluting gesture with his hand, too worn out himself to do much else. Not like he actually had to work at any of that, but... it was nice to be given a compliment.   
"And you too, darling." She added before Rodger had the chance to get a word in.   
"Alright then." He agreed. Hey, it wasn't all John's work. "I know it's kinda early, but... can we go to bed now?"   
She chuckled, feeling exactly the same way herself. "I just have a quick phone call to make."   
"A phone call?" her husband teased. "What, Vincent has to know everything?"   
She responded with a non-verbal sound that more or less equaled giving the middle finger.   


Whatever that phone call had been, it was short. And apparently none too important, as she walked up behind the two boys brushing their teeth with a yawn. "It'll be nice to sleep in." She commented, waiting for a free sink.   
"Like usual, you mean?" Rodger inquired with a mouth full of foam.   
Kyrie stared at him blankly in the mirror, then took her toothbrush. "Fine. I'll be downstairs, then."   
Her husband ever so romantically spat the remainder of toothpaste into the sink, then made long, melodramatic strides to her. "No no, don't let me offend you, my darling."   
John grinned to himself, unwilling to interrupt their moment with a quip or two of his own. They were a good threesome, sure, but he had to remind himself that he was still a bit of the outsider. Or, well, the latecomer, anyway. What an amusing thought.   
Kyrie caught the reflection of his grin, giving him one in return. "And will you be accompanying us?"   
Very tempting. But, then again... "I think you two should have a little time."   
"Aww." The married couple joked together.   
"Alright." Kyrie relented. "I'll brush my teeth then tuck you in."   
"Pft." Rodger commented.   
"Oh, I'll tuck you in, too." She assured him with a vicious little smile.   


The "tucking" was really nothing more than saying a good-night to John, while being in the guest room with him. Saying goodnight just happened to involve a kiss. Purely innocent, of course. Oh, it was nothing passion-filled or sinful by any stretch of the imagination, but it was nice. Sweet. Fulfilling.   
Off to her own room, Kyrie slipped in behind Rodger and cuddled up tight with a spouse's kiss and a contented sigh. Yes indeed. Things were going quite well.   
Half an hour later, she discovered that such things never could last for too terribly long. She woke with the sense of motion in the doorway, instinct making sure her consciousness kicked into play quickly. It was only John, in the end, but... it was more than that. She knew the look about him all too well--he'd just had a nightmare. Not just any nightmare, though. It was one of those goddamn mind-fucking nightmares that were so ungodly, utterly, horribly _real_...   
He stepped inside as she sat up, making eye contact only briefly. Before she had the chance to ask him a question or so much as try to calm him down, his shaking voice was able to express the raging emotions still echoing in his head. "Look, I... I know how this sounds, but..." He took a deep breath to still his nerves. "I think my father's trapped in Hell."   
Well now. This was... interesting. "Hell?" she inquired, surprised into full alertness. "As in, the actual place, Hell?"   
"Y-yeah." He stared into nothingness, absently running a hand through his damp hair as he tried to get a hold on his present situation. The dream had been so fucking awful; but even beyond that, there was a threatening message to it of the likes he'd never known before. Bad dreams? Yeah, he'd had them before. But never like this.   
A patient expression met his tone. Whatever this meant, there was only one question that really came to mind. And, like all of those sorts of things, Kyrie couldn't help but ask. "There really is an actual Hell?"   
The question itself almost seemed to calm him a little, as if the pure insanity of his own reality being reflected back at him made everything seem a little easier to handle. "Yes, there really is. I'm half devil, you know."   
Ah, yes. She'd almost forgotten that part. Well, then. The important things first. "What do you need?"   
What a question. Though he got the drift. "To get to the gateway. I think... I think I can get there by train. I don't know why, but I do think so."   
To his surprise, there wasn't an ounce of condescendence in her tone. It was just comforting, friendly, and matter-of-fact. "We'll get you to the train station early tomorrow. From there you can get to where you need to go. Just get some sleep for the rest of tonight, okay? I'm sure you'll be glad to have it."   
How she had managed to actually make him feel _comfortable_ after the dream, after the _realization_ he'd just had... He looked at her for a moment, expressionless. "Thanks." He offered, unable to come up with anything else. "I, uh... well... Nevermind."   
"No, John. Anything you need." She assured.   
He felt really stupid for even thinking it, but... "Well, I was kind of wondering... I mean, I don't want to come between the two of you or anything, but... it'd be nice... if it's my last night here for a while..."   
Rodger, who had been trying all the while to pretend to still be fast asleep in the knowledge that Kyrie could handle the situation, couldn't help a soft grunt of amusement. It was... kinda sweet in a slightly sick way.   
She flashed a warm, almost reassuring expression. "You don't have to be so terribly polite about it." She laid back down beside her husband, patting the space to the other side of her.   
He didn't really need to give any verbal response. Slowly, he laid down himself, strangely content in the idea that he'd simply be leaving in the morning to go back to his kill-or-be-killed existence in another dimension. Without any more need for words, he turned into her. She, in turn, turned into her husband--it was a wonderfully comfortable three person spoon. 


	6. Chapter 6

Descendants of the Mundane and the general overall concept of Descendants of the Mundane is entirely copyright Orin Drake 2003, as are the characters Kyrie (Almasy Leonhart Kinneas), Rodger Kinneas, and John Sparda. Obviously everyone else has been taken from various Final Fantasy games and Devil May Cry, and other people own those. But you ought to know that by now, right?   
Background: It was a stupid idea I came up with while playing Devil May Cry. I mean, come on. Daughter of Squall meets son of Dante. It sounded so rediculously funny that I just had to. So I did. In the beginning, this wasn't meant to be serious, or even to actually exist in Kyrie's universe at all. It was just too weird not to play with, y'know? But it grew on me. Damn you, Ky. I guess it's set more or less a couple of years after the end of Retribution Nor Redemption. Enjoy, I hope. **_Do not read_**, however, if you've got a really narrow view of relationships or sexuality (keep the other two stories in mind, in other words--Kyrie and Rodger have been together for a long time and they're very secure in one another). You might get warped. Heh heh.   
Also Note: In the interest of... well, myself, really, this is written under the theory that "demon" is a term that incorporates all hellspawn--"devil" is used specifically for a humanoid, intelligent, "higher demon". So all devils are demons, but demons are not devils. Just in case there's any confusion.   
  
  
  


Descendants of the Mundane   
Chapter 6   
by Orin Drake 

Morning came uneventfully, signaled by a very slow roll by "somebody"--and then a flailing latch to keep him on the bed rather than, once again, on the floor. John sighed quietly with his accomplishment; he not only managed to keep himself on the mattress, but also woke the other two in the process.   
At least Kyrie was laughing. Groggily, granted, but it was amusement. "Yeah, you better go." She joked as she stretched. "You just can't handle this bed."   
Both of the boys made scoffing sounds, but Rodger was the one to change the subject. "Is Vincent expecting us early?"   
"Nah." His wife answered, trying to become more or less "aware". "I figured it'd shock the hell out of him." She looked to the curtains, seeing no signs of sunlight coming from them. It was damn early. But in this case, to help John, that was good.   
"Sorry about this." The silver tressed boy admitted quietly. This was even early in Hell. Well, okay, not really. He grinned a little at his own internal dialog.   
"Don't be." Rodger offered, sitting up. "You're giving us something to do."   
"How elegantly crass, love." Kyrie teased.   


None of them bothered with showers. John wouldn't have done so even if he'd had all the time in the world that morning; in the end, he'd just be going back to that _place_. No reason to spruce up. The other two just thought it'd be funny to show up really early, looking every bit like they just rolled out of bed. Kyrie even threw a ragged pair of bunny slippers in the trunk.   
And that, the half-devil admitted to himself, was why he was really going to miss this dimension. Imagine, these two social psychopaths inviting him into their home, treating him so well, and all the while keeping this infectiously sick sense of humor. He had little doubt that, were it possible that they met, his father and Kyrie would have come to blows. He laughed at the picture--his father taking on demon form and still not being able to escape the girl's dirty fighting--even as he put his boots on. Even as he knew the time to leave was getting closer.   
"And just what is that on our front lawn?" Rodger's awed voice broke in.   
Kyrie grinned widely, pulling on her own frye boots. Wearing slippers in the estate was fine, but at the train station? Ew. "Like it?"   
Well now. John couldn't just sit there and not know what they were talking about. He walked beside the brunette and pulled back the window shades just a bit more, to see--"I... want it. Whatever it is."   
Sitting there, on their front lawn, sparkling in the beam of porch light, was this... bike. Oh, Hyne, not _just_ a bike. This was... the most amazing fucking "bike" that ever existed. It looked very much like a monster tricycle with a three-bar EstharTech engine and a really, bad, attitude.   
"It's for Cloud." Kyrie announced innocently.   
"You're _kidding_." John breathed. He... really wanted one.   
The ever so softly spoken girl only grinned a little wider, walking up behind the two gentlemen. "Nope."   
"Wait a damn minute here." Her husband turned, trying to make a point. "He gives you a collar and you give him a _motorcycle_?!"   
Her only response to that was a maddeningly devious smile. It was enough. "You want one, John?"   
Despite his better judgment, he responded honestly (albeit very softly), "Yes."   
"Feeling damn charitable all of a sudden, aren't we?" Rodger teased. This must have been what the phone call the night before was about... unless... "And what did you get Vincent?"   
"I've yet to come up with something evil enough just yet." She admitted. "I bet Cloud could give me some ideas from his shop's back wall, though..."   


It was a quiet ride in the car. As it was a quiet wait at the station until John got and inkling of where to go. They paced together, up and down the departure tracks until one in particular just... clicked. It was kinda weird, selecting a train that more or less went out in the middle of a desert near the southwestern point of the continent. But, low and behold, as soon as that train pulled in, he just got an unquestioned sense about it.   
So... well. That was that. He glanced at the others, and they regarded him with the same kind of mild nervousness. While the walk to the train wasn't a death march or anything, it was definitely a little lacking of the usual smoothness they usually had together. John wanted to assure them that this wasn't good-bye or anything... but really, he couldn't. His stomach turned to warm lead at that thought--but he pressed it as far away as it would go. He could reflect on that at another time, perhaps. Not now. Now, he just needed to... suck it up and do what he needed to do.   
As usual, it was Kyrie's instinct to interrupt the situation. She tried her best to be positive. "Did you want us to go with you?"   
He smiled at the very thought, giving the train another glance. "I'm not sure that'd be a good thing. I might have to get off before the actual stop. 'By any means necessary.'"   
Well, it'd been worth asking. She nodded her understanding. "Look, if you need--"   
"Uh-uh." He cut her off gently. "I... I need to do this by myself. And besides, I think you two have been through enough."   
"Granted." She agreed quietly, seeing her husband's mild grin out of the corner of her eye. "But should you ever need anything... Alright?"   
"Okay." John accepted.   
"And there's always pizza here for you." Rodger offered.   
"That, I appreciate." He was interrupted by a hardly comprehensible boarding call that sounded more like a string of barked curses than it did an actual location. _Well, this ain't Casa Blanca._   
Seemed the time had come. Emotions weren't exactly blazing; but they were clear. "I wish I knew you were coming back." Kyrie admitted, stepping forward and hugging him tightly.   
"Me too." He responded, squeezing back. He really and truly didn't want to pull away. Sadly, he knew he had to admit to himself that every moment counted, and he was forced to remove his arms from her first.   
"Just take care of yourself." She ordered.   
He smiled delicately with a confident nod. "I promise. You too."   
She nodded in return, forcing herself to step back. This was... really very much harder than she thought it would be.   
John had started out by just offering a hand to Rodger... but that didn't seem to be enough. It was a hug, but it was a "manly hug".   
"We'll miss you around here." The brunette assured.   
"I'll miss the both of you." He pulled away, taking a deep breath. "Especially on those lonely nights in Hell."   
At least that little gem inspired some grins.   


The walk into the Presidential Estate, short as it was, was as quiet as the ride to the station. They weren't ones to dwell, really, but... well, it was just a little more quiet than it had been before. In a number of senses. They'd waved as the train took off, and they'd seen John wave back and give that terribly hot little grin...   
Ah well. Nothing had been left unsaid, really. And they were on their way to surprise the hell out of Vincent. That was definitely something to keep their minds off everything else. Well, that and the fact she'd hired someone to pick up Cloud's new bike and have it delivered to him right in front of his store. She was quite sure his reaction would be heard from as far away as Trabia.   
It was a little too early for much to actually matter, though. Coffee was of main concern. As that was taken care of thanks to the treasured "beverage station" in their hallway, the day was officially started. Even before the sun came up. What a... foreign idea.   
Not like there was anything to do that time of morning, anyway. All they really wound up accomplishing was stumbling into their shared office and slumping together in the large, comfortable chair.   
Quite suddenly, Rodger reached over and completely woke his wife up with a quickly copped feel. The startled look on her face inspired a laugh. "Sorry."   
"No you're not." She accused over her coffee in a tone that almost anyone else would mistake for deadly serious.   
"No, I'm not." He admitted just as dryly. "But we haven't, you know. Just us, alone. Not for a while."   
She blinked like a shy southern belle. "Aw, did you miss me?"   
"Kinda." He said in a low tone, as if trying to avoid the subject. "Not that I didn't enjoy the living hell out of a 'third party'..."   
"Such a fucking romantic." She did not mince words at that time in the morning. "Gimme some lovin'."   
Rodger smirked--but decided to surprise her with another lewd copping of feel. She grinned, accepting the challenge by putting her cup of coffee on the windowsill.   
The need for words was pretty much nonexistent. They'd been together long enough, after all. In an almost practiced storm of motion, Kyrie's shirt was over her head and on the back of the chair; Rodger's was not far away, hanging off the corner of the desk.   
It was at that instant, that the door opened. At all the times, of all the places, who would be--   
Vincent was surprised, alright--but he didn't show it. The man had developed one hell of an ability to suppress reactions, she'd give him that. Only the slightest widening of his eyes gave anything away; and damn but she hadn't the chance to remove her bra. Her husband couldn't help but grin at the way she didn't so much as bother to cover herself--only sat facing him on his lap, looking at the intruder with a dull _and _what_ do you want?_ sort of look--even as he made to put his shirt back on.   
The raven haired man made it a point to act as if nothing out of the normal routine was going on. "I was informed that two people had entered the hallway. I never thought either of you would be awake early enough to be those people."   
"Miracles can happen." Kyrie smirked, finally standing to slip her shirt back on.   
Vincent's expression changed to one that clearly said, _Bullshit_. "If I may have a quick word with the little woman, Mr. Kinneas."   
Rodger chuckled at the way he'd phrased that, laughing just a little harder as he saw the devious look across his wife's face. "Of course." And, whispered to his partner in crime, "Good luck."   
She flashed him a joking middle finger as he stepped out with a flourish and a wave. If only luck were _ever_ on her side. She placed all of her attention squarely on the man in front of her, trying to decide whether he was suppressing a look of horror or one of amusement.   
"I thought perhaps you should be reminded that your office is for _work_." Vincent commented as dryly as possible.   
Heh, that was funny. "You don't seem to remind Laguna of that little issue."   
"He's the president." He defended, knowing full well his reasoning held no logic. And liking it.   
She wouldn't let him get away with that. "Maybe _your_ office is a little lonely?"   
With that, he let only the most mild of grins through. "And where is your pet?"   
The phrase he'd used only made her miss John all the more... in a certain sort of way. "Life called, I'm afraid."   
That's all he'd needed her to say. Certainly he understood; a change of subject was in order. "Cloud hasn't stopped talking about your little present, I'll have you know."   
She was just amazed that the delivery company had transported the bike so soon. Very efficient. She'd have to remember to use them in the future for... things. But that was beside the point. "Poor dear Vincent. Forced to listen, as usual."   
The smirk was almost silencing; even to her. But, if the conversation was going that way anyway... "So tell me." He started very innocently; quite unlike him. He made her wait several beats for the question, coiling like a snake to surprise her. "Who wore the collar first?"   
With a grin in her eyes she was trying so very hard to hide (and not doing a very good job), she took a moment to stare at him. Straight face, completely uninterested look. That... bastard. "You don't look like the kind that would gossip, you know."   
"I was merely listening, as you pointed out." He dismissed easily.   
The grin broke through to her lips, morphing into a highly amused snarl. She spoke without thinking. "You do just enjoy the thrill of voyeurism, don't you?"   
To both of their surprise, he started to chuckle. It was just the pure, vicious quickness of the question--he'd been caught off-guard. Not good at all. Worst of all, he was clearly _trying_ to stop and failing at every attempt.   
Shock bleeding back into amusement, she went in for the kill. What the hell. "That collar would look good on _you_."   
He felt a sudden exposed, life threatening adrenaline rush; the type of which he hadn't experienced since his Turk days. This girl was pure, complete evil. Back against a wall, unarmed, he did the only thing his split-second instincts told him to--be a cocky asshole about it. "I'd like to see you get it on me."   
And, unfortunately for him, the words came long before any sort of thought process scanned them. She only grinned as he hung himself in his own rope, then clearly struggled to get free when he realized what he'd just said. But there was no need to watch the poor creature strangle, was there? Oh no, that was too easy. She walked past him to leave, throwing casually over her shoulder, "I'll make it a point to show you."   
What---the hell had just happened? He shook his head as the door closed after her. They'd been around one another for far too long. Or maybe almost long enough.   


Walking briskly down the hall to join her husband (no doubt having found something sugary for that extra morning "umph"), she knew very well that Vincent had been trying in his usually askew way to make sure they were all being quite safe together. But the way he'd approached her... he just left himself wide open, was all. And she enjoyed every last minute of it. Little by little, she was chipping away at his resolve. It felt good. She expected nothing out of it, in the end--it was sport. Good, fun, vicious sport.   
And Rodger noticed by the expression she wore as she found him around the corner. "That was a fast one." He joked quietly.   
"Oh hush, Mr. Three Minute Warning." She threw back.   
"You were never supposed to bring up the wedding night!" he cried, even as laughter destroyed his attempt at staging a domestic dispute. Usually it scared the shit out of people. But this time there was no one to witness it, anyway.   
She dropped her voice, back into seriousness at last. "He just wanted to make sure everything was fine and dandy. In his own little way."   
Ah. What a way to start a conversation like that off... "I see." He paused, thinking over his next question. "But did you get any sweetness?"   
She smacked his shoulder with just enough force to be on the verge of joking rather than actual domestic abuse. "You are a bad man."   
"I know." He agreed with a grin. "Hey, the sun's rising, though. Want to go for a walk in the garden?"   
Hm. "That's actually a good idea."   
"Why thank you." He started them off, leading at her side. "And hopefully we won't stumble on any not quite official presidential matters." The thought kind of made him want to shiver. Laguna might have been a handsome soldier once, but in the many years since then...   
"What can I say?" she laughed. "My family's full of nymphos."   
Rodger threw a hand to the sky. "Thank Hyne."   


Alright, they had to hand it to Laguna; the garden really was gorgeous at sunrise. The way the snow white lilies caught the reds and golds of the morning, the way the roses of a hundred different hues all seemed to play off the light in their own way... it was dazzling. All sorts of flowers were on display, several of them in full bloom or producing brightly colored berries. Birds chirped little by little, hopping across their path to find waking bugs. Squirrels chattered sleepily as they walked underneath living spaces. The ground trembled...   
_Hm._ Before she had the chance to ask whether or not she was imagining things, the look on Rodger's face pretty much said it all. With all calmness, he inquired, "That was just a big ship or something, right?"   
She couldn't answer. Not because she didn't want to say yes whether she believed it or not, but because the ground literally seemed to shift beneath their feet. In one jarring motion, the place that they had been standing simply "moved aside", tripping them up but not quite toppling them.   
"Well. This isn't good." His understatement seemed to resonate in the ground underneath them again. This time, they clung to one another just to stand upright underneath the increasingly violent vibration.   
They were not located on a fault line--not that such a fact always mattered, of course. But had there been any signals in the planet's core, the whole damn world would have been informed. There hadn't been an unexpected earthquake in half a century at least; not with the technology available and a new deep earth research facility open and running. This... simply was not right.   
Not that that much mattered, they'd both be forced to admit. Louder than standing beneath any ship, louder than any of the oldest trains still running, the very grinding of the earth was deafening. Unable to stand, even against one another, they lost their footing... and _fell_.   


In one of those split seconds that lasted an imagined eternity, Kyrie found her mind asking itself, _"And why does there seem to be no ground beneath us to fall onto?"_   
_ "Because there is not."_ She answered herself with a logic that made her sick to her stomach.   
Only, there _was_ a place to land--but that didn't help a volatile stomach, any. Actually, it was the smell that first rapped viciously at her gut. She had smelled the foulness of monster blood, and she had only the slightest inklings of burning flesh from having shared a mind with Sephiroth, but it did not prepare her for... for _this_. It was as sweet as it was revolting, and that was not a good combination. Breathing was a problem, but she was forced to do so in order to survive.   
Only after she was able to breathe in without coughing was she able to reflect on the landing having been... "soft", for lack of a better word. The realization that something warm lay under her sprawled hands caused her to pull them back, away from the moist heat. What a mistake. They came back to her with a sticky slurp, bathed even more strongly in the rank, pungent smell--and a sticky sort of translucent slime.   
The horror of the situation numbed her enough to give her emotions a break; she sat stark upright and looked around. Wherever she was, it was dark... but not entirely. The walls themselves seemed to give off an otherworldly light of sorts... and this light pulsed.   
No... no, wait. It wasn't the _light_ that pulsed. It was the _walls_.   
And that's when she heard it. A great, dull, heavy drumbeat all around her. Rhythmic. Perfectly spaced.   
A heartbeat. The walls... this place... was alive. Alive, but... very much dead, for lack of a better understanding. Beyond death. Beyond anywhere the Lifestream had ever wanted to reach. This... must be...   
A warm, sticky hand found her shoulder. She started at first, but that touch was unmistakable. She wasn't alone, at least. Whether or not that offered comfort, she was uncertain. "Why us?" she asked aloud, out of nowhere. "I mean, have you ever asked yourself that? Why you're in the fucking crosshairs of everything?"   
"'Cause I'm with you." Rodger joked, coughing furiously with that godawful smell. 


	7. Chapter 7

Descendants of the Mundane and the general overall concept of Descendants of the Mundane is entirely copyright Orin Drake 2003, as are the characters Kyrie (Almasy Leonhart Kinneas), Rodger Kinneas, and John Sparda. Obviously everyone else has been taken from various Final Fantasy games and Devil May Cry, and other people own those. But you ought to know that by now, right?   
Background: It was a stupid idea I came up with while playing Devil May Cry. I mean, come on. Daughter of Squall meets son of Dante. It sounded so rediculously funny that I just had to. So I did. In the beginning, this wasn't meant to be serious, or even to actually exist in Kyrie's universe at all. It was just too weird not to play with, y'know? But it grew on me. Damn you, Ky. I guess it's set more or less a couple of years after the end of Retribution Nor Redemption. Enjoy, I hope. **_Do not read_**, however, if you've got a really narrow view of relationships or sexuality (keep the other two stories in mind, in other words--Kyrie and Rodger have been together for a long time and they're very secure in one another). You might get warped. Heh heh.   
Also Note: In the interest of... well, myself, really, this is written under the theory that "demon" is a term that incorporates all hellspawn--"devil" is used specifically for a humanoid, intelligent, "higher demon". So all devils are demons, but demons are not devils. Just in case there's any confusion.   
_Be warned! This chapter contains really gruesome descriptions that I know some people are just gonna get all bothered about... but that's the joy of reading, right?_   
  
  
  


Descendants of the Mundane   
Chapter 7   
by Orin Drake 

They sat there for a while, paying little mind to the squishy living floor, just trying to get their wits about them. All possible questions seemed too ridiculous to ask. There was no one around who might toss them an answer, anyway. The air was... so much worse than their wildest imaginations could have prepared them for. It was actually beginning to _stick_ to their skin, like air polluted with oil leaves a film. Very disturbing.   
"Well." Kyrie coughed, giving her husband's arm an uncertain squeeze. "I don't think we should stay here."   
"Me either." While he agreed completely, one look around... besides giving him the creeps, it was extremely disheartening. This was certainly new. And not in a good way.   
Carefully attempting not to take in more air than she absolutely had to, she rose from the floor. A dizziness hit her heavily--then, luckily, passed. _Wonderful._   
As her eyes adjusted to the relative darkness, she noted that they were in a nightmarishly large, round-ish chamber. Not that that fact alone did them any good. But, if there were walls, there was no doubt a way to get through them. At least Kyrie still had her most trusty of weapons and a stash of bullets in her belt. "Well?" she inquired blandly.   
Rodger shook his head, having no idea whether one direction would be any better than another. "Whatever route looks less scenic."   
She smirked, looking for any sort of specific doorway. What resembled one seemed a good way in the distance, only recognizable because it lacked the pulsating lights of the walls. Not a fun thought. Leading the way, gunblade drawn, she tried to mentally prepare herself for a battle. _You'd think by now this kind of shit would be over with..._   
There was a... peculiar tremble as they approached the arch of the "door". It wasn't quite like an earthquake. It more closely resembled... _Digestion._ The very thought was a little repulsive. Taking no chances to wait and see, they kept a good pace into another chamber--   
Boy what a mistake that had been. They emerged atop a slightly elevated platform made of the same disgusting soft floor... only this time, they had company.   
She swallowed, no longer able to control the bile rising in her throat without the action. That group of... _things_ was completely... not right. At all. They... oozed. They looked like half-dead dogs that had had most of their flesh ripped off, some with exposed bones, others seeming to leave trails of themselves behind...   
A shudder went through Rodger's body faster than he had intended--but it made no difference. He was unarmed. One couldn't very well carry a shotgun everywhere they went in the day and age in which they lived. Kyrie's gunblade was one thing; it was her family's legacy, and a weapon of such beauty and perfection that it may have been a crime not to show it off. While he felt the same way about his treasured guns, they were quite a bit harder to carry. It had just been a normal morning, a normal day of not even thinking to need weapons...   
All it took was all those pale orange eyes on them at once. No matter. The gunblader forced herself not to cough on a deep breath, bringing Fire to the surface, mentally sending it through Eleison. A bullet erupted in flame, exploding like tiny napalm as it hit one of the monsters. Five of the beasts around it caught flame, howling then seeming to melt away. Odd, to say the least.   
There were still about half a dozen other creatures, all taken to startlingly fast runs toward the invaders. Well, that would not do. For the sake of "mixing it up" a little (and to see if it were any more effective) she called Ice to her blade. Three of the racing creatures solidified on impact. The other four--no time. It was a slip, giving a little too much power up in an increasingly desperate situation, but that blast of Fire and bullet did cause a pretty amazing amount of charred hellbeast, even seeming to burn a good patch of the floor underneath them.   
Only realizing her mistake after it happened, she reminded herself to take an extra moment before moving. Powerful though she might be in some senses, she knew that too much use of Materia would drain her physical strength quickly. Obviously, they could not afford that little tidbit.   
"Are you okay?" her husband inquired softly, concerned. She'd almost seemed to swoon a little at the end of that... and not in a good way.   
"Yeah." She assured, gaining solid ground again. "Just... not used to this place's dynamics yet, I guess." She paused, making absolute certain that the grotesque animals were no longer able to stare with their creepy orange eyes. "I suppose we'd better go."   
Rodger kept a biting comment to himself. After all, it was hard enough to breathe without talking.   


A set of gold and crimson eyes watched their progress from the shadows. It wished to attack--_hungered_ for the kill--but it knew enough to wait. First, watch for their weaknesses. Only then, during the next moment of dropped guard, would it attack. Death was not preferable to its master, but if necessary...   


They'd crossed through several more chambers in a relatively straight path, making their way toward... something they had no idea about. Period. That was not something they could allow themselves to think about, however. One of the rooms they'd gone through hadn't contained another door--so Kyrie had taken it upon herself to cut one. It was a truly disturbing task. There wasn't any blood, but the mucus-like goop that emerged was enough to remind her she should not be doing that again unless she absolutely had to.   
It was behind the wall they'd sliced open that things _really_ started to get interesting; and that was saying a lot. All the way on the other side of the pulsing chamber was a figure. Two of them, actually. One had a sort of glimmer about it, as though it were made of ice. It didn't last long at the mercy of what was clearly a sword the likes of which Cloud would have appreciated.   
As for the weapon's wielder... the guy was simply unmistakable. Covered in slime and crusted gore as he was, the silver hair and red leathers came through. Even if that hadn't been enough, those bright blue eyes, widening at the sight of them, was the most definite affirmation. His jaw hung, his mouth slightly agape for a moment as if he'd forgotten how to speak. At last, there was only one question that seemed appropriate. "What the hell are you two doing here?"   
Kyrie shrugged, overall appearing very nonchalant. "Just our luck."   
John shook his head, as surprised at her natural tone and Rodger's easy-going grin as he was by their appearance. "Well... can't say I'm not glad to see you. But... how?"   
"Earthquake." She answered with a shrug.   
The blue gaze narrowed considerably. Earth splits leading directly to Hell simply didn't happen. Someone very powerful had wanted them here; or, to be more precise, had probably followed his scent and accidentally gotten his friends, instead. Not good. He'd tried to leave before endangering them...   
"So." Kyrie aimed to interrupt the thought process that seemed to be bothering him. "We're here, we may as well help."   
Regardless of finding the corners of his lips raising of their own accord, he sighed. While he was completely appreciative of her offer, he was also distraught that they were somewhat forced into the situation. He'd wanted to leave them in the safety of their own lives, not bring them into his shit. "I'm afraid we'd have to travel together, anyway. The gateway back to your world is right by where I'm heading. And it's not easy to get to."   
"A lot of gateways down here?" Rodger's interest was piqued.   
"Hell is definitely a cross-roads..." the half-demon oversimplified. It was, in essence, connected to all worlds... some were just harder to get to than others. There was a reason for the sheer number of Hell myths of all cultures--time and space found a number of rotating portals. It all depended on the levels that were accessible from that particular world. "No weapon?" he noticed.   
"Wasn't really planning on visiting." The brunette joked. "Not my idea of a vacation spot... how 'bout you, honey?"   
His wife smirked, hefting her gunblade over her shoulder to rest for a moment. No way she was going to sheath it with all that glop on it. "I'm more of a shut-in... but I'd rather be a shut-in at a beach resort in Balamb."   
The silver-haired boy let a breath of relief from his lips. Even given their circumstances... this was nice to have again. He accepted the situation, possibly opening himself to trust more vast than he ever had before--pullng his coat back, he indicated his pistols with a nod. "Ebony or Ivory?"   
"Uh..." Rodger was surprised, to say the least. He simply didn't think it was his place to take one of them...   
"Go ahead." John invited, somewhat suggestively. "But be careful. The kick's likely to rip your arm off if you're not ready for it."   
Sounded like his kind of firepower. With a brazenly amused expression, he stepped back and gazed at them. "Black or white?"   
"Black goes with anything." Kyrie answered. "But white would look good with your jeans."   
"White it is, then." Carefully tugging Ivory from his side, the half-devil took a moment to check the bullets. It came automatic when he was in battle, but otherwise it was so easy to lose count. Good thing he'd checked--for only a second, his hand glowed a gentle red. He grinned, letting his cocky side show off just the slightest bit. "Complete with automatic reload. Well... sort of."   
"Neat trick." The brunette commented.   
John nodded his appreciation. "My father taught me this spell. Saved his ass many times. If you need a reload, just hand it to me."   
Rodger took it carefully, feeling its incredible weight. Were he not used to larger rifles, he'd never have been able to hold the thing at arm's length. He only took a moment to turn from them, aiming at nothing in particular. Yeah, it would take some getting used to. But it felt good.   
"And where'd you get that kick-ass sword?" Kyrie couldn't help but notice the enormous weapon on his back.   
"I had it hidden here. Just in case." He pulled the blade, holding it out proudly "It's Force Edge... my father's. And his father's. It's... the line of Sparda, I guess." While the pride held true... that last sentence contained more of a weight of sadness than he'd meant it to. He tried to shake it off with more signature cockiness, showing off by spinning the sword through his agile fingers. "It's a big help down here."   
"I bet." She tossed back, amused. "Alright. We're all armed, so... now what?"   
"Onward." John simplified.   


"You didn't get much of a head start, huh?" she joked more or less spontaneously as they passed into another eerily revolting room.   
Their "guide" glanced back, not getting what she meant at first. It hit him on a completely unrelated note--both of the "Hell virgins" wore clothes that looked awfully clean to have been in there long. They must not have had to travel far to find him. "Ah. The gateways to the inside shift a lot. I've been wandering around for..." he started to count in his head, then gave up calculating. "Hours."   
The idea that doorway positions changed so regularly... was freaky. Perhaps no more freaky than any of the other shit happening, but... Even though she wasn't completely certain she wanted to know, she felt the need to ask. "Does time pass differently here?" The concept of Time Compression had always given her the creeps.   
John had to think about how to word the answer. "Time can... slip. It's never solid."   
Rodger got a definite shiver at that idea. He knew by now he ought to be getting used to things never seeming to follow any sort of solid rules, but... differences in the movement of time itself was absolutely frightening. Especially considering the possibilities of massive time slips between Hell and, say, Esthar...   
Admittedly, Kyrie was looking to change the subject, but she hadn't meant for her random though to have been expressed out loud. "Do you suppose my parents are down here?"   
"What, for being gay?" the "Hell expert" grinned. "Nah, Hell doesn't work like that."   
"Good to know." She found herself smiling. Ha, those little bastards were wrong, all of them. "So tell me..." she went on, feeling brave--until they had to pass through another hole in the pulsing wall that looked like it'd been _torn_ open not long before. No matter; conversation was a good distraction. "Your father knew this place?"   
"Yeah." He responded, holding back a shudder. "He wasn't born here or anything, but... he did get dragged back here a lot. Being half devil, I suppose that was bound to happen." He made a valiant attempt to grin, suppressing the memories that threatened his consciousness.   
Well, this was just interesting. "And if your father was half devil, then his father..."   
"Was a full devil." He finished. "Sparda was... very prominent here once. He was a general... but that's about all I know."   
Resisting the urge to spit for the sake of perhaps not having the awful taste of this place in his mouth for even an instant, Rodger swallowed, instead. It was hard to imagine anyone thinking this place was... "normal". Ol' Sparda'd had a good idea to get out. "So your mother was..?"   
The pause lasted almost too long. "She... was a demon in human form. It's a little too hard to explain." Their guide paused, stopping dead in his tracks and listening. Nothing. He'd hoped he'd only been imagining things, but one could never be too careful. "But let me ask you both something." Now was as good a time as any. "Is Vincent any sort of Hellspawn?"   
The two of them laughed, making the chamber around them tremble from the sheer power of pleasant emotion. Hell was not the sort of place a person laughed in. It was Kyrie that responded, after catching her breath. "That is debatable. But, technically, no."   
Somewhat surprising. "What... is he, then?"   
She grinned at that, almost finding it hard to respond seriously. "Human, once. An assassin. Then, for lack of a better description, a psychopathic scientist changed his DNA. None of us are quite sure exactly _what_ he is now." It was a weird thought, really. Cloud had been through a similar thing, though not quite as dramatic. The two "old pals" had long ago come to terms with the fact that they couldn't remember shit after Sephiroth's supposed death via Lifestream, not to mention large chunks of life before that. Or, mostly--sometimes Cloud had a little too much to drink. He wasn't an angry drunk for the most part, but every once in a while a sputter of memory would get him going. Names like "Aeris" and "Barret" came up an awful lot--but none were uttered with as much reverence as "Tifa". Nor as much hatred and heartache as "Sephiroth". Not that she didn't understand that part all too well.   
As for Vincent... he seemed to refuse to acknowledge the possibility that anything had happened after the incident at all. Kyrie knew better, somehow--but the man didn't show his concerns for himself. The nightmares may not have gone entirely, but they were clearly less a part of his life than they had been. He never did speak of their specifics, and likely never would. But she... she watched him, sometimes, when Cloud would ramble. He'd cringe, albeit slightly, when certain things were said. More often than not, he'd simply leave the room. And one thing he would never do was fall asleep in front of anyone.   
Staring at the grotesque walls of Hell around her as they moved through another chamber, she really wished she'd have asked more questions. Or any at all. She only knew snippets, delicate bits and pieces... and she really wondered once in a while if she'd be able to handle the whole "truth", anyway. Part of her thought that may be why they couldn't remember.   
Her internal dialog was sliced short by John's momentary pause--then he grasped his sword. His heightened senses told him _something_ awaited them in the darkest corner of the chamber they'd just entered.   
Unfortunately, that _something_ had sensed them just as easily. It rolled its translucent form out into the open until it rested at the center of the room. It was... even less pleasant than the dog creatures before. At least they'd loosely resembled something a person may regularly encounter--this globular dome of jelly with dozens of surrounding tentacles was, needless to say, not something that would have existed even in the worst of nightmares. It was dangerous. It was ugly. And, worse than anything, it smelled even more awful than Hell.   
"Stay back." John ordered, quickly getting into his fighting frame of mind. "Blast the sucker when the globe is exposed; and, trust me, you'll know it when you see it. I'll do the rest."   
Well now. What were they going to say? They nodded, giving one another a glance. Instant mental communication--Rodger on one side of the chamber, Kyrie on the other. As the half-devil ran straight into the heart of the action, the spouses broke off, darting along the wall until they were more or less across from one another, aiming.   
Knowing the "globe" when they saw it was certainly not an issue. John sliced two of the fleshy tentacles off with one sweep, sending streams of semi-transluscent green goop squirting in multiple directions. Luckily, he avoided the slime altogether--he'd already leapt, using all available adrenaline to rocket his body up and over the squirming glob, thrusting his sword down and into brightly shining blue globe on the thing's back.   
Kyrie's gunblade fired first, as carefully as she could to avoid injury to any of their group. In response, the blue sphere seemed to ripple a little, dimming ever so slightly at the instant the bullet hit it. Every little bit helped...   
Swallowing, Rodger knew his first shot shouldn't be that close to John's body. He needed to get a feel for the pistol, first. Aiming for another of the creature's tentacles, he braced his back and shoulders up against the wall, using both hands to squeeze the trigger--the force of the recoil was a hell of a lot stronger than he'd been prepared for, leaving him with the feeling he'd been trying to hold back a speeding train as it came right for him. The fleshy wall of the chamber flexed backward a couple of _feet_ as the sound of the explosion caused a bit of a tremble in the ground beneath.   
On the up side, another of the tentacles burst, pouring more of the green ooze from the wound. John stabbed the globe repeatedly before the suddenly gooey form beneath him seemed to swallow the glowing ball again. Before he found himself submerged as well, the half-devil jumped off and darted away from the thing's reach. _One more time, it should only take one more time.._ he pulled Ebony and shot twice, disconnecting more tentacles.   
Quickly, Kyrie followed suit. She saw the next bullet detach another fleshy "limb", then go through the glob and literally lodge itself, suspended, in the slime. It was an ewe moment, certainly. At least that seemed to piss the thing off enough to get the blue sphere to emerge again. She safely squeezed off two rounds before John leapt again to chop at it.   
Arms sore, Rodger picked himself up and took a deep breath. This was not looking up for him. He widened his stance, braced himself a little harder against the horrific stretchy wall behind him, and tried it again. This time the shot was easier, but it would still take some getting used to. Nonetheless, two more tentacles spewed goop, the stumps moving a little slower than they had before.   
The scent, the motion, the adrenaline and the situation was all it took. Moving at a speed only afforded to those with demon blood, he practically fucked the son of a bitch to death, stabbing until the energy of the creature had dissipated, sending its physical form to melt into a puddle. Green glop oozed out rapidly until the thing finally fell flat, collapsed in on itself, then vanished in a vapor.   
"Okay." Kyrie took a step back so that the remains would not encompass her boots before it evaporated. "That was disturbing."   
Even as John shivered with the feel of the slime on his hands, he warned as casually as he could, "There's worse, down here."   
Two loud pops sounded as Rodger stretched his arms out in front of him. Forget just practice--he needed to build some more muscle on his arms to handle that damn thing. "Ow." He commented quietly to himself.   
His wife walked over, avoiding the spot where the creature had "oozed". It might look gone, but... the chance of stepping in anything left over was disturbing. "Good kick?"   
"_Great_ kick." He admitted with a grin. "A little too much for a beginner..."   
The silver haired boy grinned back at that statement. "But just right for the expert?"   
"Exactly." The brunette agreed jokingly.   
Kyrie rolled her eyes in good humor. "Boys will be boys."   
"Unless it's in your case." John cracked viciously, going so far as to snag her with his arm, bringing her toward him in a show of affection. He always got a little giddy after such an adrenaline spike--especially after a victory.   
"You saying I can't be the boy?" she challenged, attempting to squirm away.   
Rodger laughed quite hard at that one. The look on the other boy's face only made it funnier.   
The walls shook with the positive energy the group gave off, and that only served to silence them all. It was unexplainable, at first--just a... "dark feeling". All of a sudden, there seemed to be some sort of motion in the shadows at the doorway they'd come through. Wordlessly, John released Kyrie and pulled Ebony, then started to lead them on a rush to the other doorway. He knew very well that in some situations, it was best only to continue; especially when such an intense dark feeling was around. It never meant good things, to say the least.   
The silent communication decided it all again--Rodger would stay in the middle, ready to attack should something come at them from the side. Kyrie turned to cover them, walking backward and bringing up the rear. Whatever the form was, it remained in the shadows as they moved (very hopefully frightened of the gunblade, if not the group themselves).   
And then, just as she thought they should easily be safe with another step... she bumped into a wall. There was a short moment of confusion, knowing that she'd been following a straight line...and then she glanced over her shoulder. The hole that _had_ been directly behind her seemed to have "healed up" for lack of a better term. It actually resembled a giant scab more than she liked to have thought about. To make matters worse, whatever had been hidden in the shadows on the other side was suddenly coming at her too fast for her to cut through the wall--_Shit._ All she could do was dart to a good spot in a "corner" of the chamber to take aim.   
She never had a chance. The shadow beast used its talons to rip into her shoulders, stopping her instantly. She hardly felt the razor-sharp claws--instead, it was the monster's stinger that became all too apparent. Never before had she been stung by a million wasps at once--though, in the situation, she'd be able to say she knew what it felt like. For mere seconds in time, her entire body stung, burned, causing all muscles to slack all at once. That's all it took for her attacker to quite effectively remove its talons, turning her and throwing her against a wall that had suddenly become solid due to the beast's whims.   
"Not... going to be... the mother, fucking, heroine..." she hissed, reaching for her gunblade. Her hand refused to grasp, however, and she hadn't been able to feel that her weapon had dropped with the sting. Black and white spots flashed even as she closed her eyes, unable to keep them open any longer. The poison traveled quickly, completely stunning whatever it came into contact with.   


It smelled the very essence of her life, the taste of her heartbeat, the timing of her breath. Yes, indeed there was something powerful lurking inside of her, beating out of time with her pulse, but--she was not a Sparda. She had no connection. And yet... she was scented with _him_. Not directly, no. Similarly. Different bloodline, but something... similar.   
Perhaps she was seasoned with a Sparda child? It pressed its wretched body even closer to her, digging its claws deep into the muscles of her shoulders again, ignoring the disappearing struggles, the weak cry--all but the wide streams of fresh blood. A taste, merely a taste. No, she did not carry the seed of Sparda. Scented, and perfectly capable, but not claimed.   
But perhaps... just perhaps... If it brought a fertile human woman to its master, scented with Sparda... it would be very well rewarded. Yes, yes indeed.   
She fought valiantly, considering, but she was no match its poison. It took a little more blood and some force against her windpipe, but that was easy.   


The boys had noticed something was up almost right away. Rodger had passed into the next room, then felt some odd sort of heat directly behind him. It wasn't the heat another body would afford; it was more like an oven had suddenly been opened directly behind him for a split second. He turned--nearly dropping Ivory. "Uh, John..."   
The half-demon turned back, noting the strong tone of worry. His reaction didn't help that any--all he could do was blink. Walls didn't seal unless there was something else contained within the room...   
"_No_, dammit." The brunette growled in far too calm a manner to express the dangerous current underneath. He knew something had gone terribly wrong...   
"Stand back." John suggested, barely waiting for his comrade to step out of the way before he slashed the wall open again. The flesh of the wall split with a sickening, fabric-like tearing sound. Sword still drawn, he dashed forward--   
Nothing. Literally, gut-wrenchingly, nothing. Not a sign, not a showing. She was simply, not, there. 


	8. Chapter 8

Descendants of the Mundane and the general overall concept of Descendants of the Mundane is entirely copyright Orin Drake 2003, as are the characters Kyrie (Almasy Leonhart Kinneas), Rodger Kinneas, and John Sparda. Obviously everyone else has been taken from various Final Fantasy games and Devil May Cry, and other people own those. But you ought to know that by now, right?   
Background: It was a stupid idea I came up with while playing Devil May Cry. I mean, come on. Daughter of Squall meets son of Dante. It sounded so rediculously funny that I just had to. So I did. In the beginning, this wasn't meant to be serious, or even to actually exist in Kyrie's universe at all. It was just too weird not to play with, y'know? But it grew on me. Damn you, Ky. I guess it's set more or less a couple of years after the end of Retribution Nor Redemption. Enjoy, I hope. **_Do not read_**, however, if you've got a really narrow view of relationships or sexuality (keep the other two stories in mind, in other words--Kyrie and Rodger have been together for a long time and they're very secure in one another). You might get warped. Heh heh.   
Also Note: In the interest of... well, myself, really, this is written under the theory that "demon" is a term that incorporates all hellspawn--"devil" is used specifically for a humanoid, intelligent, "higher demon". So all devils are demons, but demons are not devils. Just in case there's any confusion.   
_Be warned! This chapter contains a few more kinda gross things. You should know the drill by now._   
  
  
  


Descendants of the Mundane   
Chapter 8   
by Orin Drake 

Rodger almost stumbled at the sight. The room was absolutely, completely empty. The same room that they had only just left--and without Kyrie.   
John's blue eyes suddenly seemed to take on a hint of red as they narrowed. The scent was unmistakable--a shadow minion. Personal right-hand creatures of devils themselves. He was certain that someone had sent it to grab _one_ of them. She just happened to have been the last one in line, determined by luck and circumstance... "We have to keep going." He assured quietly.   
The brunette was uncertain if it was rage or a general numbness that was encompassing him, burning like fire in his gut and over his skin. He was unable to respond at that point.   
"I have a good feeling we'll catch up with her." The half-devil continued, a little stronger. He was pretty certain that she wasn't dead, but it was more or less guaranteed that she was physically attacked. The fleshy surfaces of Hell had a way of soaking up any spilled blood, so there was no proof... but the idea lingered in the room like a scent. If he could simply follow that scent... "This way." It would take everything not to rush; the worst thing they could do was to become distracted.   


While distraction was an enemy, Rodger found himself unable to think of much else. From room to room, he would follow John's lead, allowing the other boy to shoot whatever lay in the shadows for the most part. This was half necessity--there was no way Rodger was able to fire off rapid shots yet. The other half was that godawful distraction, again. Only when faced with true life or death was he able to snap out of that one.   
A truly countless number of rooms seemed to roll by like countryside from a train, almost disconnected and feeling unreal. He was literally in the stinking pit of Hell, seeking his wife. It reminded him of a hundred myths, none of which he'd have been able to pick out in a logical sense. Myth had more than power.   
John was more careful than usual. He saw the slightly glazed look in the other boy's eyes, wandering blindly save for the absolute need to defend himself. He marked it, recognized it, and remembered it. "I can't express how sorry I am." He suddenly admitted over his shoulder, moving into another chamber.   
Rodger shook his head, grateful but dismissing. "It's not your fault we're here."   
Hmph. "Well, actually--"   
"You _tried_ to leave peacefully." The brunette interrupted with a touch of humor--not at all reflecting how tight his stomach was. "Wrong place at the wrong time. That seems to sum us up pretty well."   
What an interesting way to put it. With one last sensory sweep of the chamber, and assuring himself there was only one open doorway, the half-devil pointed toward a flat, wide-open patch of floor. "I'd prefer we had furniture. But we don't. And we need to rest for a little while so we don't wear out." It wasn't so much for himself... but he could use a moment's break from hunting. It got to be so awfully draining.   
Rodger stared at the indicated spot, taking a moment to let the concept sink in. He really could argue the point--he was tired in so many ways. Nodding, he sat, just sort of letting his legs go limp underneath him. Immediately the rank smell of Hell assaulted him, his nostrils closer to the floor. Even that, however, didn't really phase him.   
John had been watching, closely. Every motion, every twitch of muscle, every irregular heartbeat and spike in temperature. It was all so very... interesting. Sitting as well, he struck up conversation. "Aren't you... I mean... Aren't you worried about her?"   
The other boy laughed naturally--but his eyes didn't quite show it. "I'm scared shitless." He admitted, almost in a joking manner. "I've got no idea where she is, or what's happening to her, and I am scared, shitless."   
It's not that the silver haired boy was in doubt of that fact. It was just... surprising, the way the emotions were handled. "You don't show it."   
"Well, that's one of her tricks that I must have picked up." The brunette shook his head, feeling almost ashamed that he should be able to hide his fear so well. "She was damn good at it. All that she's been through..." He sighed, turning his attention back to the living walls around them. "I barely believe she's still sane."   
He felt kind of weird about asking, but... it was the perfect opportunity. And he really wanted to know. Especially considering all of the stuff he'd already been privy to. "What _did_ happen to her?"   
Rodger continued looking at the wall for a moment, then took a steady breath. "Well, let's see. She saw her dad fall to his death, his body crushed between gears in a giant machine. The aftermath of her father tortured to death--then later saw them both tortured from the eyes of the bastard who did it..." And still sometimes she woke up with those images, panting, shivering, clutching at the sheets, insisting she was okay...   
John swallowed; the other boy's voice was getting heavier with his anger, fist clenching little by little into a white-knuckled mass. Still, he didn't interrupt. He'd asked, dammit. This kind of energy traveled a long way in Hell... but it really only helped to hide them.   
The brunette continued, unaware of the concern being thrown his direction. "The same bastard who probably would have raped her had she not been so damn good at aggravating him. About four years later, after everything had settled, Sephiroth came back. He took over her mind. He and Jenova... they almost destroyed her..."   
The silver-tressed boy tilted his head to the side, not recognizing either name from his dealings with monsters and demons. He'd damn well commit them to memory, though. He might need to know them some day.   
His jaw suddenly wrought with pain from gritting his teeth, Rodger finally realized how incredibly tense he'd gotten. Casting a glance in John's direction, he also noted how much worry shone through on the other boy's face. It was understandable--he closed his eyes and tried desperately to relax a little bit. When he spoke again, it was in a normal, conversational tone. Flat, but normal. "I'm not even sure that I know everything. She's still pretty good at hiding certain things."   
"You were with her all this time?" John attempted quietly.   
"Yeah." He sighed, stretching out his aching muscles and trying to be as nonchalant about the details as possible. "I found Seifer's body. I was there when Squall died. So was Vincent, and Cloud." Rubbing his eyes gently, he successfully held the anger at bay. "We were all there when Sephiroth and Jenova were trying to destroy her mind, too. That was... really hard to take. At least we could help fight before, but... there was nothing we could do for her when it was all in her head. She did it, though. And I asked her to marry me. Vincent had been bugging us about living in sin for years."   
Now that was surprising. "_Vincent_?" he blurted, unable to picture the same man being... conservative, to put it lightly.   
The question actually made Rodger feel a little more at ease. He smiled and took in John's puzzled expression. "Well, it had been a joke. But I got the feeling he was trying to give me an excuse, if I needed it." He looked back to that disgusting, pulsating wall. "She's... unique."   
That statement actually caused a full chuckle on the half-devil's part. "I've been made aware of that."   
At least the brunette could fully admit that he was feeling better. The fact remained, though... "Is there a Heaven, do you think?"   
"No guarantees." John responded flatly. He hoped there was, if only so his father's soul could rest somewhere without... disappearing. That thought, more than any other, was just too frightening. Didn't devils deserve rest, too? "She'll be okay."   
"You believe that?"   
"Yeah." He paused a moment, running his fingers over the hilt of his father's sword. "I don't even think the King of Hell would get her to take shit from him."   
Rodger laughed quietly, a low and almost deviously playful tone to the sound. "Good point."   


Like the lapping of water against the shore, there was a sobbing all around her. Not consciousness, not awareness--just dark, sad. All was nothing, and nothing filled all dimension.   
There was nothing familiar about it--and yet it _was_ familiar, with a twist. There was warmth; but there was also cold. A freezing that bit deeply into flesh that didn't feel like it really existed. No memory, and no other measurements by which to interpret the experience. All was that darkness, that somber nothing.   
Until...   
_"Wake."_   
_"Wake."_   
_ "Wake"_   
Like a pulse, the word _beat._   
_ "Wake."_ It echoed steadily.   
_"Wake."_ And every time it echoed, she felt a little more of her body.   
_"Wake."_ It was formless, voiceless, but there just the same.   
_"Wake."_ Spoken to _her_ specifically.   
_"Wake."_ She jerked, feeling something give way though she had no idea what it might have been.   
"Wake up!" echoed off of more than her mind. It echoed off of the walls. That last one had been a real voice. Real and loud enough to have startled her completely awake--and with waking came falling. Whatever had been holding her up had suddenly let go, sending her plummeting six or so feet to a floor. Luckily (though disturbingly), the floor happened to be the usual soft, fleshy building blocks of Hell. She didn't exactly land without a bruise, but she didn't break anything, either.   
Taking a deep breath, she began coughing. The far too familiar and gut churning scent of the place was thick in the air. That part, sadly, had not been a dream. Stumbling and trying to catch her breath without choking, she steadied herself enough to look around. This room... was surprisingly even more grotesque than she'd already encountered. It was like those utterly horrific "virtual journey into the body" trips to the natural history museum in grade school. Only this was much, much worse. While her memory held that the previous rooms had been "fleshy", for lack of a better word, this one was... composed of membranes. Very thin, skin-like sheets hung around her, blocking little light from the pulsating walls themselves. Add to that, the walls each had what looked like thick, stout tentacles flailing along them in slow motion. Hell was either a great big aquarium, or a huge colon. Neither of those thoughts were as funny as they were supposed to be.   
She shivered violently, wanting a shower a hell of a lot more than she possibly ever had. Memory came back in waves, and her hand instinctually went to her shoulder to assess the damage. Good thing: she hadn't been unconscious long--the shredded wounds were barely healed over at the skin level. Bad thing: she had no other information at all. About anything. Goddammit.   
Looking up, she tried to judge what she'd fallen from. It was too dark to make out all that many details, but she clearly saw _something_ squirming above her head. Making a decidedly intelligent decision, she immediately moved out of reach. The cluster of things directly above her were of similar nature to the sort that covered the walls and most of the ceiling--only the tentacles right above were longer, thinner, and covered in spines.   
A realization dawned as she slowly got used to the disgusting air, trying to keep far enough away from all reaching "limbs". That place of nothingness where she'd awoken from, of darkness... was it an illusion? Taking a quick glimpse at her arms, she saw what looked to be tiny pinpricks, some of which seemed to be seeping out something clear. Suddenly the idea that the spines may have injected some form of drug into her system rose in her head, giving her another shiver. Maybe it was that, maybe it was a combination of things she didn't understand--she knew she needed out of there and fast.   
That voice, though... there was clearly not another soul in the room. So to speak. Or that she could identify, anyway. While she was partially relieved to know that hadn't been Sephiroth's voice... she was more than unnerved to understand that it had been a voice she hadn't recognized. It sounded very much like John's, actually--but the inflection was different. Maybe it was accented, or... well, or something. Thinking it through here and now didn't seem the smartest option, though.   
"Fuck this." She commented to herself, pulling Eleison. Maybe she didn't have a hell of a lot of bullets, but the blade would get her by just fine. She could slice the walls open for as long as she had to. The trick was not getting into anymore trouble before she could find someone familiar.   


In a matter of moments, John noted that the scent he had been following had changed. What that meant, he had no idea. It's not as if the scent disappeared or mutated entirely; it just _changed_. Though, seeing as how they were battling their way through the third room full of gory dog-like creatures since they'd started off again, it was no time to analyze "minor" details.   
The boys stood firmly back to back, each one leaning back as the other fired to absorb the recoil, allowing Rodger to shoot more quickly. Every six shots, they switched--John used his charmed touch to reload them with his father's spell, handing a full gun back.   
Even then, with the defenses and the attacks... the sons of bitches weren't falling fast enough. Sure each one only took one bullet (a couple of the others took two, but never more), but there were so damn _many_ of them. They came in like a flood, the tide ebbing closer little by little regardless of the demon blood that splattered those still moving.   
Making matters worse, Rodger's right arm was painfully tired. He braced with the left, but even that was starting to go downhill. Pain had started to shoot through his wrists with every squeeze of the trigger.   
_We can do this._ John thought frantically to himself, even as another wave of the disgruntled creatures seemed to emerge from nowhere. He knew these beats had some sick way of "procreating" when excited if you didn't kill them fast enough--only their idea of "procreation" was rather like an ameba separating. Not pleasant to watch, let alone think about.   
"Too close." The brunette panted quietly, trying hard to ignore the bolt of agony that had begun to spike up his entire arm with every recoil. He just wasn't strong enough for that kind of pistol, the dogs were getting closer to him by the minute...   
The half-devil kept himself quiet; otherwise, he'd have agreed. He'd just about gotten his foot chewed off only seconds before, and that wouldn't have been a lot of fun to reattach in Hell. Even as he swapped hands for an instant to wipe the sweat from his palm, he knew they were in trouble. These little puppies had been sent to tear them to shreds.   


The supposed fact that she had been going in one solid direction became questionable. She _thought_ she had been, and she'd certainly _planned_ it that way, but... out of curiosity, she'd taken a peek over her shoulder, back to one of the walls she'd sliced through. It wasn't that she'd elected to cut through a wall rather than to use an already open doorway just a few feet from it that was so odd--it was that the slice she'd previously made seemed to have shifted a little. She couldn't prove it, no...   
At least, not at first. Overcome with curiosity, she walked in the straightest line possible to the other side of the next chamber, then looked back. Perfect alignment by her eye, considering the room was more or less a dome. She turned, cut, steeped through and looked back.   
With a swallow, she began doubting the consistency of the place. The slice that had been right across from her... had shifted, two yards to the right of where it had been when last she looked.   
"Definitely more of a giant colon." She murmured to herself, pulling Eleison back to rip open another wall--then paused. Some definite instinct overpowered her decision, somehow completely convincing her in that very second that the hole she was about to cut would be detrimental. Normally, this sort of decision would be reflected upon, analyzed... though, given the circumstances, it appeared then was not the time to do such things. A clear sense of urgency cut through even the instinctual knowledge of what _not_ to do.   
A flash, like a thought picked out of air from someone else. She took three quick sidesteps, then slashed the wall with a quick ferocity that would have left enough room for four people to dart through. And Hyne was she glad she'd done so. The loving hellos would have to wait--the boys were in a little bit of trouble, by the look of things.   
No need to think, really. Instinct had been her friend for as long as she could remember, and even in Hell she let it reign over her. Radiating Fire through her blade, she held on, powered up for as long as her muscles could stand the heat--then dashed into the fray with a leap and a spinning slash, releasing the built up energy from the materia in a wide scythe-like pattern.   
Even at their distance, Rodger and John felt the added heat in the room. Instinct drove him--the brunette pulled them both down to the floor just in time to avoid the wave of destruction.   
Almost all of the little self-replicating shits were dead--almost. Kyrie checked to see if she had it in her, then understood that she didn't really give a damn. Hand out, palm up, she summoned a good-sized jolt of Ultima. A shockwave of energy surged out, leaving her unharmed. The demons were not so lucky. Those closest to the surge simply exploded; the others quite frankly _fried_ to death.   
She turned slowly, making absolutely certain that there were no more creatures in the room. Panting, legs wobbling, covered in exploded bits of something that was too thick and too green to be simply blood, she announced as calmly as if she were stating a dinner special in a restaurant, "That is _not_ natural."   
Strong arms grasped her from behind--in a fierce, all-encompassing hug. Rodger was so far beyond words that he didn't even try to express how glad he was to see her vocally. The hug was enough. Holding her was everything. He wasn't certain he'd ever see her again... but damn did she make an entrance. Didn't keep him waiting, and made sure he knew she was there. That was his girl.   
John smiled, approaching from the side, also completely beyond words. He knew what could have happened to her, what she may have already been through... but apparently that much didn't matter. His eyes were so bright, looking as though he wanted to join in on the warm fuzzies, himself.   
Kyrie put an arm across Rodgers', returning his hug as best she could while being faced away from him. The other, though, she extended to the "new recruit", pulling him in. Hey, what the hell. Group hug! Squishy touchy feely free for all! Literally--she cringed with the audible _squish_ of demon-dog guts as three bodes met. Just... ewe. Glad to be there, but... ewe.   
"That's really disgusting." Rodger commented, trying to keep his voice level.   
"The Hugged" grinned, using the arm that had been crossed over her husbands' to pull him in closer, instead. Hey, there was room. _My boys._ She let her mind loose for a moment. Damned if she was going to let a little hellspawn get her down. "And how is everyone?"   
"Better." Her husband whispered, meaning it.   
"Hungry." John responded. One look at the walls sort of erased that thought, though...   


The three of them were sure to transfer to a new room, first. They were just a touch silently uneasy about staying in a chamber with a bunch of slimy bodies slowly disappearing. "Certified safe" (John had said as much) in the chamber that Kyrie had entered through, they paused for a little rest. And, better, to figure out what the hell was going on. Not a pun in sight.   
They sat in silence for several moments, formed in a close triangle. It was Rodger that at last broke the silence, eager to know. "So. What happened?"   
She shook her head, unsure exactly. "I was attacked by..."   
"A shadow minion." The half-devil finished very quietly.   
"Hm." She commented. The term sounded appropriate, from what she remembered. "I'm not sure what happened. There was a lot of pain, then I lost consciousness. Sound familiar?" she tried to have the best sense of humor about it that she could.   
So much so, that the brunette made an effort to smile--ignoring the sudden but quickly dissipating urge to vomit. "Then?"   
Her gaze shifted to a point of nothingness near the floor as she thought it over. "Then... I fell." She paused, the words not entirely making sense to her, either. "I was... held somewhere... a really disturbing somewhere... then I woke up and fell..." Her gaze transferred to John, hoping he could help her out a little.   
He looked back with a bit of sincere surprise. "I-it sounds like the Sleep Chamber." He offered, only when he realized they were both waiting for him to fill them in. "That's what my father called it. Where some of the physical bodies are kept in Hell. But... they're always in a deep sleep. He tried to wake some of them up, but they didn't respond."   
Interesting, to say the least. "Well... someone told me to wake up." It sounded stupid even as she said it, but... it was true.   
A long pause came from the silver tressed boy. "Someone told you... to wake up?"   
She couldn't help but grin at his absolute seriousness. "Yes. Distinctly. Maybe telepathically at first, but... I _know_ that last time echoed off the walls."   
Rodger's eyes narrowed, their color darkening dramatically. "Was it..?"   
"No." She responded dully, certain. "Don't get me wrong, it's been a while, but... I sure as hell remember what Sephiroth sounded like."   
"The demon?" John spoke up, making sure.   
"Yeah." She assured. "More or less, anyway."   
"Close enough." The brunette added, almost under his breath.   
The subject change was an easy one for her. "But... John, are you telepathic?"   
"Not... that I know of." He admitted carefully, trying to establish any previous telepathic experiences. He'd never had any. At least, not to his knowledge. In fact, his complete lack of foresight into the mind of anyone had rather put him in difficult situations regularly. "Why?"   
She shook her head, dismissing her own concerns for the moment. "The voice just... sort of sounded like yours. But I wasn't entirely 'aware' at the time, so maybe I'm just imagining things now." The shaking of her head, however, was making her dizzy. The loss of energy from healing, general stress and of course using Materia was seriously catching up with her.   
And that had become all too apparent to the other two. The girl seriously needed some natural sleep. John chided himself for not even bothering to see if the demon dogs had left behind any of their energy crystals. He wasn't sure about humans, but he knew he could use them to restore his own power. If they had been dropped, they were certainly reabsorbed into the walls by then.   
"Tired, Ky?" Rodger prodded, knowing the answer but trying to get her to admit it. It was just easier that way, rather than trying to convince her she should sleep.   
Regardless, she gave him a mild glare. She knew better, though. "I'm afraid I am."   
John got the gist. "You two can afford a couple of hours, easy."   
"What about you?" she tossed the subject back in his direction.   
The half-devil shrugged. "I can do with a nap every once in a while. But I'm good for now."   
She sighed at the seeming unfairness of the situation... but truth be told, she was getting too tired to care. It had gained momentum, moving from purely mental to physical as well. Damn. She really shouldn't have given so much to that Ultima blast. "Alright." She agreed. "But you're taking that nap later. If we have to wear you out first."   
Oh how glad he was that they were traveling together again. 


	9. Chapter 9

Descendants of the Mundane and the general overall concept of Descendants of the Mundane is entirely copyright Orin Drake 2003, as are the characters Kyrie (Almasy Leonhart Kinneas), Rodger Kinneas, and John Sparda. Obviously everyone else has been taken from various Final Fantasy games and Devil May Cry, and other people own those. But you ought to know that by now, right?   
Background: It was a stupid idea I came up with while playing Devil May Cry. I mean, come on. Daughter of Squall meets son of Dante. It sounded so rediculously funny that I just had to. So I did. In the beginning, this wasn't meant to be serious, or even to actually exist in Kyrie's universe at all. It was just too weird not to play with, y'know? But it grew on me. Damn you, Ky. I guess it's set more or less a couple of years after the end of Retribution Nor Redemption. Enjoy, I hope. **_Do not read_**, however, if you've got a really narrow view of relationships or sexuality (keep the other two stories in mind, in other words--Kyrie and Rodger have been together for a long time and they're very secure in one another). You might get warped. Heh heh.   
Also Note: In the interest of... well, myself, really, this is written under the theory that "demon" is a term that incorporates all hellspawn--"devil" is used specifically for a humanoid, intelligent, "higher demon". So all devils are demons, but demons are not devils. Just in case there's any confusion.   
  
  
  


Descendants of the Mundane   
Chapter 9   
by Orin Drake 

Sleep came easier than she had expected, actually. She'd just been so drained, so tired... even the rancid chamber of Hell couldn't keep her from getting a few winks. Especially not while she was all cuddled up with her husband and their "guide"--even if he was understandably too paranoid to sleep with them. It was nice merely to be close and rest.   
But it was almost nicer, in some sick way, to wake her up and get her going. John grinned mildly at the not so happy look on the girl's face as he carefully shook her shoulder. His internal clock judged that it had been just over two surface hours, and he was loathe to afford much more time without at the very least moving around.   
Her shifting woke Rodger, causing something that sounded like a weak string of curses muttered under his breath while he stretched. It was definitely one of those times when he'd really rather have had twelve or so hours of sleep, rather than two... but realizing the stench around him was plenty to get him awake.   
"Feeling better?" the half-demon inquired, intending to sound innocent.   
"No need to fake concern." Kyrie joked, stretching. "Yeah. Good to go. Uh... in a minute."   
He got the gist when her stretching abruptly ended. "I'll just... turn around. Or something."   
"The two of you can have a literal pissing contest while I finish up behind you." She shook the last bit of sleep off with the teasing appearance of a conscious grin.   
"That's not sexy at all." Rodger commented, yawning.   


Only a few mintues later, they were off again. It felt, all of a sudden, rather sickeningly familiar. A most vivid memory of journeying to the Deep Earth Research Facility in search of Sephiroth hit the spouses at roughly the same time; though, Kyrie seemed a little more affected by the whole thing, if the glance Rodger had taken was any indication.   
John was a little too busy smelling out demons to take much of a notice. He'd raised his pistol several times, but it seemed all he really smelled were the remains of creatures that had come before. Not a bad sign, but not something to allow himself to get comfortable with, either.   
"Not that I don't hold you in full trust..." the gunblader began out of the blue, "But how do you know where you're going if everything keeps shifting around?"   
"Just a feeling." He answered easily.   
Yes, she could understand that one easily enough. A sudden curiosity as to how he worked out his stress and frustration followed... but that was pretty well answered already. If he wasn't in a position to "relax", he'd certainly be able to find some demons to destroy. Must feel good on some level. Speaking of frustration... "Damn I wish I had some coffee."   
Boy boys grinned at the sudden sentiment. Rodger leaned in a little to the other, mock-whispering, "That's where she gets her power from."   
In truth, the half-devil symapthized. He used to be a big caffeine junkie, too, until he realized... "I'm afraid that's why it's _Hell_. No coffee."   
A perfect stage groan echoed behind him. No, it wasn't as if she actually needed to rely on the blackish liquid. But it sure didn't hurt. Especially not after two hour naps and fighting demons. A girl needs a little something to get her going.   
Approaching the next room, they all noticed that the scent... changed. That didn't mean it got any better, of course, but it was distinctly different--a fact only half resolved when they noted a small nest of what looked to be reptile eggs against the wall on the far side. They were just a little too large and scaly to have been a variety normally encountered, say, anyway else. No one asked what they were because no one wanted to know. Even John only had the most basic idea... and he didn't care for it. This did bring up a rather philosophical and moral dillema, however...   
"So now what?" Kyrie dramatically simplfied.   
"I don't know." Their guide admitted. "I suppose we should detroy them in our defense. Or something like that."   
"Do you know what they might hatch into?" Rodger couldn't help the question. It was that sick curiosity, the desire to know even though he was pretty sure he'd rather not.   
"Couldn't tell you." Came the admission after a moment's thought. "But you can bet if it's hatched here, it'll be trouble."   
Of all the people to have spoken such a thought, hardly anyone would have believed it'd have been _her_. "Seems slightly unfair to destroy a clutch before they even have a chance to kill us." When all eyes turned to her out of sheer and silent surprise, she merely shrugged. "I'm just expressing myself. I didn't say, 'No please let's not kill the hellspawn'."   
"Oh, good." Her husband teased. "Then we'd have to kill you and leave the eggs alone."   
She flashed him a middle finger and stepped closer to the nest, inspecting. "I don't suppose they could be used for food." Not a question. Frankly the very thought made her a little woozy.   
"Probably best not to try." John stared at the scaled shells, suppressing a shiver. "And I bet they won't taste a damn thing like chicken. Or eggs."   
Ah well. Luckily she didn't think she'd be hungry enough to try something that exotic for a long while. "Guess we better be quick about this and fry the fuckers."   
The dazzling blue eyes became astoundingly wide for the a faction of a second. "So your family line ends with you, huh?"   
"That's right." She confirmed.   
"And that's not just because we can't stand kids." Rodger put his two cents in.   
John threw back a grin, nodding. "I understand that one."   
The brunette elbowed his wife gently. "Are you sure you can use Materia this soon?"   
"Yeah." She assured nonchalantly. "I feel better now. And a little use will help it build up faster next time."   
There was only a moment's pause in his eyes before he looked away agreeably. He knew she took on too much far too easily at times. But she seemed alright. None of them could risk her weakening... especially when he hadn't bothered to do much to master the Ultima materia himself. Only she could handle that one.   
Nodding, she spread a hand above the nest and let the energy build. It wasn't hardly as large an amount as the previous attempts, giving just enough blaze and force to turn the nest into char with a quick glimmer of orange. Yeah they were bloodthirsty demons that would have ripped them apart at first meeting... but there was no reason not to make it quick.   
John watched the display with his arms folded, taking in the details. Damn that was easy. Much more so than having to shoot and step on those godawful spiders that crawled around every so often. That was really quite revolting.   
In a weird jolt of surprise, the smell of their surroundings improved for a split second--with the scent of frying eggs. It would have been funny had the reak of Hell not closed in immediately after to taunt them further. Oh well. Hunger come and hunger gone, just like that.   


Another few chambers seemed to pass them by quickly in silence before the next conversation flared up, almost unintensionally. Rodger had been wondering out loud, a process which seemed only natural in the quiet. "I'd bet money that Quistis wouldn't even flinch if you placed her right in the middle of Hell right now."   
A grin touched Kyrie's lips as she agreed with a chuckle. "Because of the booze or her personality?"   
"Both." He admitted.   
John had said it before and he was certain he'd say it again. "You have an interesting family."   
"You don't know the half of it." She joked, holding back the bittersweet edge that suddenly clasped her chest. Somehow the general environment made even the good memories of her parents seem tainted.   
It was like a silently shared thought between the three of them--not something that was any longer considered either amazing or out of the ordinary. "I do miss them." She admitted quietly, clearly trying to dismiss the very idea itself. There was no _need_ to allow that fact to be negative, wandering through Hell or not.   
There was no need to have explained that he'd been told about the very basics--it was an understanding that flared up in the half-devil's eyes. "Are we all the product of crushed homes or what?"   
At least that had been damn funny. "Not entirely." Rodger admitted, glad to laugh. "I just had your typical. Pa was a drunk, Ma was only doting toward him for so long. And... that's it, pretty much."   
"'Ma'?" Kyrie teased. "I need to start calling her 'Ma'."   
"She'd love it." He admitted.   
"Your 'Pa' has come a long way, though." She offered.   
"That's true. He's doing pretty well, now. We talk once or twice a month and meet for dinner every once in a while." It wasn't the same as it was in his youth, but... nothing could be, he supposed. "We should all go to a theme park sometime."   
Kyrie laughed darkly at that. "There's a good plan." Her pause was less to look around a new chamber carefully than it was to suppress the possibility of an outpouring of emotion. "I remember when my parents took me to a theme park, once." She stopped to laugh cynically, remembering way too much. "It was hell for Squall. But Seifer had a better time than I did. And when he was having fun, it was fuck all to everyone else and whatever they might have thought." And that... was nice. There weren't too many full days that she recalled when the guilt melted entirely away. Even with a smile, she knew the other two were already in the careful process of picking their way through her memories so as not to "cause her grief". But fuck that. Subject change. "And what about your family, John?"   
He hadn't quite expected to be drawn in so quickly. It wasn't as if he had anything to hide, though. "Well, my dad wasn't exactly... the type for bonding." He admitted. "But I think he made an effort, at least. I know he never really got to know his father, so..." He paused for thought, taking another look around to make sure they were alone for the time being. "He wasn't the sort of guy that settled down. I was sort of an... 'unplanned miscalculation'."   
"Sweet guy, your father." She joked quietly.   
He laughed it off pleasantly. "At least he was honest about it. And he waited until I started asking questions. He didn't just come in one day and tell me I was a horrible accident."   
"He waited 'til you asked to tell you that, huh?" Rodger threw in, chuckling.   
"Like any good parent, I think." The other boy threw back, grinning. "After Mom died, though... He wasn't quite the same after that. I know now it was sort of a demon 'fuck you', but... I don't know. He wouldn't tell me anything back then. I'm sure he was trying to protect me."   
Uncertain of exactly what ground she was walking on, Kyrie made a very gauged attempt at digging. "What happened?"   
The grin remained, but the emotion underneath it turned perfectly hollow. "I came home from school one day. Dad was waiting outside. He told me it was time to leave." His voice dropped slowly, turning into a growling whisper, the fake expression seeping out with it. He walked ahead as he talked, unwilling to make eye contact as the memories played in front of his vision. "I was mad, I guess. He wouldn't let me see Mom, so I pushed him and ran into the house. It was... just a mess. Demon guts and yellow blood... and red blood. Can't really remember the rest of that day, though."   
Swallows, and silence. Rodger gave a shiver, but Kyrie was too practiced at this kind of restraint. She took it as a grain of salt, pretending it didn't reach any deeper. "Guess that makes you the charmed one." She joked lowly toward her husband.   
Assuring though it seemed, the brunette couldn't help but notice how his wife's hand trembled as she patted his arm in jest. Yeah, those two had a little more in common than he'd initially gave them credit for.   


Funny how time erases. Not completely, and not really, but the illusion is so perfect... Only a few chambers later, everyone seemed in good spirits again. And really, why wouldn't they be? Sloshing around through the dark and previously only imagined intricacies of Hell, having just recovered from a moment of emotional exposure.   
How could it ever be otherwise, though? It was a sense of humor and fast recovery that kept them all alive, not to mention comparitively sane. That, too, had been shared in a most intimate and nonverbal way. Not bad in a day's work, perhaps.   
Regardless of their own triumphs and tribulations, the fact remained that hey were getting closer to their destination; and that meant that they were tripping alarms all over the place. They were being watched from eyes that could not be sensed, in the shadows of the walls themselves. And when those eyes looked very closely into the heart of the Sparda bloodline... they saw one image that felt more frightening than the rest. Something deep, secret, and scared...   


"This is just getting weird." John admitted, regardless of knowing better.   
Rodger winced as his sore arm automatically moved for the borrowed pistol. Instead of picking it up, he decided conversation would probably hurt far less. "What is?"   
"This silence..." the half-devil answered, his pace not slowing; but his eyes were searching every last bit that he could find for motion. "We're getting too damn close to a particular warp doorway for nothing to have tried to kill us yet."   
"There were those... godawful dog things." Kyrie suggested. _And let's not forget I'd most certainly be dead by now if I didn't heal quickly..._   
"True." He agreed with a glance. "But they don't exactly stop at that..." The devil hunter took a deep breath, tasting the air. Only the sourness that was the telltale scent of Hell responded. Hm. Seemed a little cold in th--   
**_SNAP_**--the doorway they'd come through closed with a fully unnatural sound. With a quick turn toward the hole they were heading toward, that path was found to be sealed as well. To make the situation worse, the smell of taint began to boil...   
"_Fuck_." John cursed even as he pulled his father's sword from his back.   
The demon taint was suddenly so strong in the air that breathing became close to impossible for a few seconds--but the other two recovered under the sheer power of adrenaline. It was as if the chamber was coated with a wretched energy, something that was out not only to kill but to enjoy the slow death it would bring. Not a good sign. They stood in a triangle, backs and shoulders meeting, no need for a verbal signal.   
The oddly glowing walls suddenly dimmed, seeping from them... shadows. They were moving, flowing, liquid and viscous as they poured from the walls and puddled in a ring around the chosen victims on the floor.   
John found his jaw set--because it had to be. If he hadn't clamped his teeth together, they'd be chattering. Somehow he _knew_ what this was... and he didn't care to think about it. The dread feeling surrounding him was completely unique, and not in the best of ways.   
Easy as she found it to suppress most of her reaction on the feild of battle, Kyrie could not help the eye widening that the shadows caused. It wasn't the shadows themselves, no--it was the fact that they were rising from the floor in some semi-solid form. At first, it was only a series of thin sticks that jutted up from the oil-like pool; quickly those sticks came to resemble hands. As the fingers formed, the arms pulled themselves up by pairs, pulling from nothing a thin and costumed body topped with the most terrifying clown head...   
Rodger's stomach no longer seemed a part of him. It felt more that he was walking on it, or trying to stand on it to get away from the monstrocities pulling themselves from the living shadow. As the terrors appeared to give themselves legs, it all came together; he felt himself pressing hard against the other two, unconsciously trying to back away. And as if the mere vision of these creatures wasn't disturbing enough, _they had blades_. Big, sharp, shining blades.   
_Marionettes._ John realized, his mind hardly able to make a connection, let alone a move. _They're... fucking Marionettes._   
As if given a telepathic signal, the giant living dolls' eyes glowed with all things dark and horrible--and they began to move in together. Each step carried with it the subtle creak of wood and the jingle of bells and metal, only accentuating the already demonic appearence. All childhood nightmares had begun to move around them...   
"John!"   
He turned, pushing forward and away from the other two on instinct, startled to hear his name so clearly--though there was no time for that much to register. Turning and bracing himself with a wide stance, he was damn glad the sudden noise had made his body tense. Had his arms not been so ridgid, the blade that met his own might well have driven itself, and his, through his body. That sharp "_Clang!"_ erraticated the formless voice from before, making him hiss with the sharp lines of pain springing up and down his arms.   
Those cold, dead eyes grinning into his... the thought registered only as he was pulling back for another blow--it was a real, fucking, Marionette; the kind of which his own father had had nightmares about. In the flesh, so to speak. Staring him down. Making him want to shiver with just the thought of the abomination, let alone by the actual sight of the thing, face to face.   
Didn't matter now. Had to fight. He used most of his weight to push the bastard away, then went straight for the legs, snapping like match sticks under the force of the blade. The creature shrieked as if it were able to feel, falling, flailing--but not dying. The grin remained, the eyes glowing an even more wicked brightness--then began to crawl closer.   
"Take cover!" he heard from behind him; Kyrie's voice. She had manged to evade a swing for her sternum, Rodger behind her and ready to duck.   
Without hesitation, John tucked the blade in and rolled away with as much force as he could manage, feeling a sudden wall of heat errupt behind him. He was damn glad to have taken her advice, that was for sure.   
The Marionette he'd been fighting exploded into bits of tattered fabric, splinters and flame. Luckily, so did three others in her vacinty. Unfortunately, it seemed the others were a little bit... "smarter". Uh-oh.   
Lip firmly between his teeth, Rodger was able to stifle most of the sound when he took the recoil with two very sore arms. At least he'd blasted the head off of one of the fuckers.   
Kyrie was finding it just a little hard to do battle with anything _that_ much taller than she was. Discovering that the legs fell like matchsticks was a great little feature, but the fuckers still crawled. That was an unfortunate finding after she was inches away from having her achilese tendon severed. Too close but not close enough--one slash with a bullet in the middle took care of him.   
Even as John's sword easily slashed through another, the sound of the cry that Rodger could not stifle made him cringe. It took the slightest glance to judge the damage--one of the Marionette's blades had caught a good chunk of his outter thigh. A really good chunk. An already very bloody chunk.   
The crimson eyes of the gunblader became the very eyes of death as her husband crumbled to the ground, grasping at a gaping wound. She had to force herself to give into the faith that he'd be able to catch himself--and fuck all else. Something untested began to happen without her conscious knowledge. The Ultima she had summoned filled the blade, the mental image she gave the Materia loading the bullet, glimmering on the edge--she released, spinning the weapon around her in a full-circle arc, firing a shot into the heart of the Marionette that seemed to stand out above the rest. In the summoning mindset, it was as if she could see the glow of the leader, shining darkly even more than the others; in an almost philosophical moment, she almost understood it to be because she was summoning the Materia from her heart. Something about Hell detested the heart...   
_Boom_. That was the only description. John felt himself flung away from the center, having the sense about him to curl and roll quickly to a stop. There was a blinding green from the blast, causing him a moment of absolute thoughtlessness at the sheer brilliance of... of whatever that was... It took a good moment to shake the glammer of the Materia from his head before he was able to comprehend his surroundings. Bits of charred and melted--_holy fuck_--dead puppet lay everywhere. Rodger was doubled over on the ground, his hands wrapped tightly around his dripping thigh. Kyrie was kneeling next to him, her eyes closed; she was trying to make her vision stop swimming. While she had not only managed to discover a little something new with Ultima, resulting in a slight advancement in the Materia's powers, she'd also managed to use an awful lot of energy to bring that little display about. At least the Materia occasionally reciprocated by offering a little extra energy back... in small doses.   
The half-devil darted over to the less than perfectly able pair, taking a look at the damage. First thing was first. "Rodger? Ya there?" When a pained moan met his question, he assumed it was in the affirmative. Luckily it seemed Kyrie's display didn't erradicate the most important feature of Hell's little toys. "The green orbs. There are a few around here, from the Marionettes. They'll heal you." He wasn't able to gather the orbs himself, or he'd accidentally absorb them. He would, however, give a hand if he needed--   
But the brunette surprised him. He reached out with one hand, his fingers brushing one of the glowing spheres that floated a couple of inches above some demon remains. The feel of the orb itself was cold--but the warmth as the energy travelled up his arm and directly to his wounded thigh would have been unbearable had the relief not been so instant. It wasn't completely healed, but it was better. He waited a moment to catch his breath before he lifted himself on his hands and knees, crawling carefully toward another orb.   
Well. That much was getting taken care of. Next up, the girl next to him that seemed on the verge of falling from her knees, onto her ass. He gently pressed a palm against her cheek, bringing her eyes into focus on him. "Alright?"   
She nodded slowly, as if in a dream. "Materia... recharging... it'll be a moment..." She knew what to expect when any Materia leveled up. First came the weakness. Then, if she could just stay conscious for long enough, came the--her body shimmered for a split second with a deep jewel green. She sighed quietly, feeling herself recharged as the Materia took time out to "sleep" until it was charged again. Once more totally aware, she gave John a reassuring nod, then turned to watch her husband grasp another orb. The blood had stopped flowing as the pain ebbed away, allowing him to more or less stumble toward the third and final orb that he needed for complete recovery.   
"Hey." He called, at last relieved and healed. "These things are cool." 


	10. Chapter 10

Descendants of the Mundane and the general overall concept of Descendants of the Mundane is entirely copyright Orin Drake 2003-2004, as are the characters Kyrie (Almasy Leonhart Kinneas), Rodger Kinneas, and John Sparda. Obviously everyone else has been taken from various Final Fantasy games and Devil May Cry, and other people own those. But you ought to know that by now, right?   
Background: It was a stupid idea I came up with while playing Devil May Cry. I mean, come on. Daughter of Squall meets son of Dante. It sounded so rediculously funny that I just had to. So I did. In the beginning, this wasn't meant to be serious, or even to actually exist in Kyrie's universe at all. It was just too weird not to play with, y'know? But it grew on me. Damn you, Ky. I guess it's set more or less a couple of years after the end of Retribution Nor Redemption. Enjoy, I hope. **_Do not read_**, however, if you've got a really narrow view of relationships or sexuality (keep the other two stories in mind, in other words--Kyrie and Rodger have been together for a long time and they're very secure in one another). You might get warped. Heh heh.   
Also Note: In the interest of... well, myself, really, this is written under the theory that "demon" is a term that incorporates all hellspawn--"devil" is used specifically for a humanoid, intelligent, "higher demon". So all devils are demons, but demons are not devils. Just in case there's any confusion.   
  
  
  


Descendants of the Mundane   
Chapter 10   
by Orin Drake 

"That really hurt. A lot." Rodger admitted as they were well on their way again.   
"I imagine." Kyrie grinned, relieved that all was healed and well. For the time being, anyway.   
"I can't really imagine what being impaled was like." The brunette continued offhand, stretching away the slight tenseness in his inner thigh. Not the worst setback, considering the other possibilities.   
John raised an eyebrow and glanced back. _'Was like'?_   
The girl shrugged dismissively at the silent inquiry. "Things happen. You know how it goes."   
Yeah, he did. But, along those lines... "Remember that voice you thought you heard?"   
Curiouser... "Hard to forget." She admitted.   
The half-devil nodded, letting his thoughts wander for a moment before stumbling back upon the subject at hand. "I think I heard it, too. When the Marionettes were attacking. It... called my name. Saved my ass."   
Another pause for thought. "Did you recognize it?" she asked simply.   
He'd never had reason to lie to them. And, frankly, he was pretty sure he never would. As for himself, however... "I'm not sure." And he wasn't, really. But he had a very weird instinctual tickle at the back of his mind... which he was actually trying to ignore. It was weird, and not necessarily right, but it seemed somehow essential at the time.   
His response, however, received a none too mild glance between his companions. He may not have actually been turned around to _see_ their reaction, but he felt it certainly enough. Had they read more into his words than he'd meant, or had the words themselves merely not made enough sense to serve as a satisfactory answer? "Maybe I was just imagining things." He diverted.   
Valid enough, perhaps.   


Their journey continued as quickly as it had been momentarily halted. A little pain and some passing of energy never hurt anyone... too much. When kept in context, anyway.   
They were definitely getting closer. As though the growing significance of the demons in their way hadn't been enough, John could simply feel it coming. Just through that larger portal they were stalking was where he'd found the way to the world of his two companions. And had he been able to have gone just a little further past, he was certain he'd have found something even more terrifying and magnificent...   
But that was not a thought he should have been focussing on, and he knew that as soon as the thought had begun to sneak back into his head. It was akin to a myth and nothing more. But it was a fantastic myth. The idea of such a place was almost too much for his curiosity, and far too much to be allowed to sit and wonder about...   
Two eyes of almost devil-quality crimson snapped him out of the millions of possibilities. She hadn't been staring or anything. It had only been a glance--but the glance had lasted a while. Longer than she'd meant for it to, certainly... but she'd been in her own little world for a moment there, as well. The walls seemed to be moving in on them in a number of poignant ways.   
Rodger waited along the side and slightly behind them both. He had a feeling in his gut that he simply ought to clear the way. Kyrie wasn't connected to Hell or anything (well... not seriously, anyway), but he'd always known she could seem damn close were the mood and situation just right--and he wouldn't have still been breathing, let alone married to her, had he not learned to read those shifts. She was going to call the other boy on something he might not like. And for some reason, the brunette had simply felt it necessary to remove himself from the conflict.   
"The voice." Her tone was smooth, gentle--but lacking kindness.   
John could almost feel the back of his neck heating up. He didn't mean anything by the slight curl of his lip--it was just so natural. He felt, more than anything, _defensive_ all of a sudden. This place, and his bloodline... it built up pretty suddenly. "Yes." He attempted in the same tone.   
"Who did you think it was?" she kept her eyes level, but her stance and shoulders unreadable. Yes, the walls around them seemed to feed off of the slightest bit of tension, somehow able to amplify the emotions and send them back while absorbing the essence of them. It was a dangerous place to be, and she understood a simple question could turn into an all-out battle if the wires were tripped just so. She'd try her damnedest not to let that happen, though. Too close now. Even she could sense that.   
The half-devil took a needed moment to steady himself, to remind himself that he was not backed up against the wall. These were not people he needed to fight with or hold things away from. One of the passages through an inner wall of Hell was so close... Its negativity was spreading fast with every step nearer... "Ever hear of Joy Division?" he even managed to blow his own thought process apart with that one.   
An... interesting answer. And not even in the game of a question asked to avoid another question. "No." She admitted simply.   
"Hm." He took careful breaths, forcing himself to ignore the adrenaline that did not belong in his veins under the circumstances. Would having been born a normal human child have been too much to ask? "They were a band. That did a song I was reminded of. 'Love Will Tear Us Apart'."   
Kyrie allowed her lips to quirk ever so slightly. Interesting title. "You'll have to attempt some karaoke sometime."   
He returned the quick gesture of an attempted smile, bringing his heated blood down a bit. No, the walls did not appreciate smiles and jokes. Maybe they'd lay off for a bit. At least until they were within reach of the doorway. "I thought it might have been... my dad."   
The girl let silence reign for a while. Just thinking. How... interesting. A consciousness in Hell, able to control something? Or speak out somehow? She had much to learn of the place. But it would confirm that dream of his that lead them all there in the first place. Whether that was a good or bad thing...   
The silver-tressed boy continued after a moment, his heartbeat slowly pulsing back to normal. Half demon, maybe; but he was half human, too. Humans found it easier to suppress and pretend. Hey, that was funny. That'd keep the negativity at bay for a little longer. "We're getting closer. To him."   
"He's 'on our way' then, so to speak." She charmingly oversimplified to the point of idiocy. "Cool." Turning to her husband and walking backward, she continued. "We'll stop on the way home and pick up a soul, okay?"   
"Fine by me." Rodger couldn't help but grin. Another disaster successfully avoided. Drawing closer to the other two again, he let the nervous quiver in his stomach work its way out.   


No. The walls of Hell did not appreciate them coming so near to so precious an area. But they would wait to have demon energies unleashed upon them. Just a few moments. Not so much as blinks of an eye in the grand scheme of things. Still so hard to wait, so much breath to be held... When they got there, when they realized they could go no further... only then... and slowly... so very slowly...   


"So when did you two know it was love?" John grinned, much more interested in asking a sudden and possibly volatile question than he was in the answer.   
Rodger pounced first, wrapping an arm around his wife and squeezing hard. "First time I felt her up."   
The three of them laughed at that, sending yet more of the invasive negativity scurrying off. Kyrie jokingly pushed her way out of the embrace and dusted herself off. "I think maybe it was when we were less than embarrassed about getting a case of condoms from my aunt."   
"A case?" As surprised as John was in one sense... he was absolutely not in another. It certainly served as necessary amusement. "Wow. Uh... did your parents know?"   
There was a mild attempt on her part to retain some sort of composure. "Can't imagine they _didn't_. I mean, at the train station-"   
Rodger groaned at the memory. That kiss. That long kiss that left him aching and very much red-faced, right after everyone had met or caught up. In front of all of them. "That was an unfair use of feminine wiles, I'll have you know."   
"Oh, I know." She winked, doing a hot off the catwalk supermodel pose before catching back in step with the other two. "It kept you coming back, though. Sucker."   
The half-devil smiled genuinely at the two of them. Yeah, it was one of those storybook romances, alright.   
"You ever suffered the bloody, infested, diseased bite of love?" Rodger asked ever so sweetly.   
It seemed to have been a million years since he'd found himself laughing so hard. Perhaps not the smartest thing to completely drop one's sense of direction so suddenly, even if it was for a good refreshing burst of terribly inappropriate laughter. Too blessed by good friends to be in Hell. Stopping completely, he found that he had to pause and take a few full breaths before he was able to wipe his eyes and respond by strength of will. "I don't know, really."   
"Aww." The couple cooed, giggling.   
Kyrie went on, smiling even as the subject got damn close to serious. "There are different kinds of love, you know."   
The half-devil found himself glancing back at her knowingly. True. There were loves other than "full-blown soul mate romantic" or whatever it was. Seemed almost a ridiculous concept after the rest of his life... and moreso after recent events. Turning back to the journey at hand, he stopped dead.   
There. On the other side of the chamber that they were just about to enter--he could _see_ it. The door to the next level of Hell. It was as undeniable in sight as it was in taint. He recognized it, besides. Only that time it hadn't been... "Locked." He breathed, his heart sinking in heavy downward spirals.   
By the time the gunblader had recovered from the very visage of the door, there was no sense in asking what he meant. The door itself looked like a giant, solid wrought iron number found in horrifying children's stories... but somehow, it was so much deeper than that. She realized that what she sensed emanating from it was not something her eyes could see--rather it was a more hidden, more primal sort of sight born of intuition and things the brain couldn't usually divulge. There was an energy to it, so dangerous and terrifying that there was no way anything but more of Hell could be on the other side; and at the same time, there was almost a... safety about it. An assurance. A magic energy surrounding the door... that felt nearly impossible to open.   
While that was quite nice in one sense, it was also a little bit devastating in another. If that "lock" was going to be hard to remove--and it most assuredly would be, given the cirumstances--then their chances of getting through in a quick and easy manner were looking pretty damned slim.   
Certainly the perfect idea for a trap. The sound of a million tiny footsteps rose from a whisper to a raging sea behind them, and turning to look at what it might be was not a wise move. Even for John, this was new. New, and different, and not good at all. He bolted toward the door, hoping perhaps that getting a little closer to it would give him some sort of advantage over figuring out how to open it--but the energy that surrounded and bound the gateway lashed out at him as he approached, leaving his shoulder with the feeling it had been stricken by a bat made of ice. Instinctually grasping his smarting shoulder as it stung with freezing cold pain, he let his sight wander just behind him. _Okay. This is not good._ All that time, all that way, and the door was _locked_...   
The question, _"What are they?"_ seemed a little too obvious to Rodger, darting right after his wife into the chamber and as far away from those things as possible. They looked like spiders... but at the same time, they had the tails of scorpions coiled over their backs. That was bad enough. As was the fact that there seemed to be an army of them marching in sync, approaching quickly. No, what was by far worse was that each one looked to come to about knee-height on any one of them.   
"We don't have time for this!" John oversimplified with massive annoyance, shooting. Just shooting. He ignored the still aching shoulder, managing to hit almost every mark--but it didn't matter. For every shuddering demon body that exploded in red, another would fill its place and come closer.   
Backing him up, the brunette pulled the pistol and had at it in rapid succession, handing it off to the other boy every six shots as he had before. There was hardly time to think about the nightmare image, and that seemed best. If any of them had let the sheer number of the disgusting things into their field of consciousness...   
Kyrie pulled her gunblade, glaring momentarily at the door as if that would do any good--and felt a pulse. So strong, sudden and so very... unnatural that pulse, beating through her chest, around where the Materia resided that she nearly lost grip of her weapon. That pulse was... deeply familiar, but also... astoundingly different. It _felt_ like darkness looked. Swallowing, it all kind of came together; Sephiroth's momento was... beating inside of her.   
The constant, overlapping _clack-clack--**BANG!**_ of the pistols were almost entirely drowned out by another pulse of the energy surrounding the door. But their situation was getting desperate, here. She couldn't afford the time to figure it out logically. Closing her eyes, she tried to summon the shard like she did with any Materia--to no avail. It wasn't entirely responsive to _her_. It was responding to the doorway in front of her.   
Ignoring the shots and marching steps increasing in significance behind her, she took another long look at the barrier... and recognized something like a keyhole that certainly hadn't been there before. No, not quite that--she just hadn't bothered to _see_ it, before. It "glowed in the absence of light" as the momento did. The slightest of grins illuminated her face as she stepped forward, unharmed by the protective shield. _Sephiroth, you bastard. You've been to Hell and you never told me._   
Whether or not that was true could wait to be proven. She reached out as if there were a knob to grab--and the barrier shattered like glass. She pulled back instinctually to avoid being cut, but there were no shards to be cut by. It was a shattering of magic, nothing more. Maybe the door to Hell really was locked from the inside. If so, they were busting the fuck out. "Okay, let's go."   
The almost stupidly simplistic command left the two boys with a moment's pause before they glanced over their shoulders to... an open doorway, swirling with a million impossible colors. Right behind an almost innocently nonchalant girl, motioning for them like mad. Had there been time for more words, she'd have used a couple of choice ones to get them moving, but the international, multi-world language of scooping air toward herself in mime of _"Hurry the hell up!"_ would just have to do.   
Luckily her efforts did not go unnoticed. An all too practiced blast in the face of a leaping monstrosity and John brought up the back quickly, one more shot over his shoulder.   


There was an awful lot of darkness at first. Then came a smell... sulfur. _Brimstone._ A sound, maybe? A dull thud... no, several. Three, four maybe. Possibly more; it echoed too much to really tell.   
Feeling. Viscous. Slow. Cold. Then standing. Definitely standing.   
Sight was last to bless her with its presence, and what met her eyes was as surprising as it was eerily beautiful. Spines, shards, crystals... of ice. A chamber of it, layers and clusters of almost mundane, slightly shimmering frozen water. And damn but it was cold in there.   
"We made it." John's voice sounded weary and far away, even thought she could see him right next to her.   
"Are you sure?" Rodger shook his head in a way that seemed far too slow to be anything but dream-like. "It... doesn't feel right."   
"It takes a minute." The half-devil informed him, wrapping his arms around himself. "I remember cursing this place because it only gets colder."   
"Wonderful." Even in the surreal, slowed down state of things, Kyrie's sarcasm shot and aimed true. "And now where to?"   
"And now--" John turned, aiming for a place across the chamber, but was forced to pause. Physically, he could not have made it any further--a three-faced, full length mirror had merely come to rest in their path. Covering each of the large oval surfaces was what appeared to be steam... at first. As the three of them looked toward it, the mirrors seemed to clear themselves, becoming not reflective, but...   
Three gateways. Three separate, life-sized images from the clearing steam: Dante, Seifer, and Sephiroth.   
"A fucking test." The silver-tressed boy cursed to himself. "Some devil is having fun with us."   
That seemed less than a good thing, to be certain. "So what do we do?" Kyrie felt it her duty to ask the most obvious question.   
"Fight it." He simplified with a sigh. Those damned creatures needed _something_ to entertain themselves with... but did they have to chose their little group, and right then? "It'll take whatever form it can to draw your mind away. You just have to fight it. Confuse it. Make it stumble over its own words. Then the mirrors will disappear."   
One for each of them, then. One demon to conquer, to talk their way out of. Yeah. No problem. Hopefully.   
John knew that the mirror reflecting his father was his alone. It was unquestionable... and just a little too freaky. As for the other silver-haired gentleman... the half-devil didn't even need to be told. That was Sephiroth; undoubtedly the creature of evil and grace he'd heard of. There was no denying. But then, there was also that middle mirror... cold and vicious as those illusionary eyes were, there was something about the stance, the mannerism, that told him it must be one of Kyrie's relations.   
And for once, she would not have to take Sephiroth. While this let Rodger breathe easily in one way... he wasn't quite sure he was up to the challenge. He could accuse that illusion of an awful lot, but talk his way out of it? Well... too late now.   
Taking a look into the eyes of what seemed to be the younger, Garden version of her father, she caught the amber glimmer in them. _Not Seifer._ She understood quickly. _It's Seifer controlled by Ultimecia_. A slightly new dimension of mind-fuck. Oh goodie.   
So. This was it. Separation. Three pairs of eyes met quickly, flashing a nauseating mixture of fear and self assurance. The boys then turned to the last living bloodline of Leonhart and Almasy, expecting her to say something, anything of power or substance... but she shrugged. What was there to say that hadn't been said? That wasn't already known and shared?   
Well, alright. Just one thing Kyrie needed to say. "Your father was really hot." 


	11. Chapter 11

Descendants of the Mundane and the general overall concept of Descendants of the Mundane is entirely copyright Orin Drake 2003-2004, as are the characters Kyrie (Almasy Leonhart Kinneas), Rodger Kinneas, and John Sparda. Obviously everyone else has been taken from various Final Fantasy games and Devil May Cry, and other people own those. But you ought to know that by now, right?   
Background: It was a stupid idea I came up with while playing Devil May Cry. I mean, come on. Daughter of Squall meets son of Dante. It sounded so rediculously funny that I just had to. So I did. In the beginning, this wasn't meant to be serious, or even to actually exist in Kyrie's universe at all. It was just too weird not to play with, y'know? But it grew on me. Damn you, Ky. I guess it's set more or less a couple of years after the end of Retribution Nor Redemption. Enjoy, I hope. **_Do not read_**, however, if you've got a really narrow view of relationships or sexuality (keep the other two stories in mind, in other words--Kyrie and Rodger have been together for a long time and they're very secure in one another). You might get warped. Heh heh.   
Also Note: In the interest of... well, myself, really, this is written under the theory that "demon" is a term that incorporates all hellspawn--"devil" is used specifically for a humanoid, intelligent, "higher demon". So all devils are demons, but demons are not devils. Just in case there's any confusion.   
  
  
  


Descendants of the Mundane   
Chapter 11   
by Orin Drake 

Whereas stepping into the chamber of ice made them feel lethargic, trapped in a waking dream world, stepping into the "mirrors" made them once again feel "normal". Already a dangerous trick, certainly.   
Wandering through the looking glass may have brought about a false sense of calm and warmth, but Kyrie wasn't fucking buying it. All that existed on the other side was a perfect field of black--and that illusion. She stared into the odd golden eyes of the thing trying so hard to be the vision of her father, and scoffed. "Had you looked any further, you'd have known I've dealt with this bullshit before."   
The devil grinned, turning slightly to show off the perfect replica of Hyperion in his hand. "It is those of which are sure of themselves that find themselves in the most trouble, sweetheart."   
_Granted. Fucker. _But that seemed to matter very little in the moment, during such an interesting introduction. She even took the time and effort to walk around the illusion, appraising the perfect similarities between the form in front of her and her memories. The form even smelled of familiar spices, like Seifer had after he'd been cooking... a little strange for the younger version before her. "Not quite right, dude."   
A very mild glare was wrought from the demon, its form changing like liquid metal, melting quickly until it had become another form entirely--but the eyes remained the same. The visage of Ultimacea stood where Seifer had been, looking down at the mere human hatefully. "Perhaps this is better, then."   
But Kyrie... had other ideas. "Well now how the hell would I know what the old sorceress bitch looked like? You could be pulling that out of your ass for all I know. It's far from convincing."   
It was official--she could annoy even devils. The growl from the throat of the illusion could hardly have been made by anything mortal. "Your parents were useless weaklings in my universe."   
"Good hit under the belt." She threw out, feeling possibly cockier than at any other point in her life. Wow could she ever do the asshole thing well. Her parents would be so proud. "So desperate that you're telling me variations of 'yo mama' jokes? Fucking Hyne, you're just a used-up trash-demon."   
But perhaps... there was a way to turn the tables of this far too good-natured teasing... "Seifer was weak."   
Hand on her hip, Kyrie let a dismissive hand fly. "He was mentally beaten into a corner that he could not escape for a long time. But he found the way out. That's what matters."   
"And why does that matter?" the devil sensed a crack, a path to the inside somewhere in that answer. "So Squall might have something to fuck on occasion?"   
Instead of anger, a surprisingly sure smirk rippled through her features. "Boy, you're still trying to get this shit down, aren't you?"   
Searching... watching... the devil once more shifted into another form; and this time, it got attention. The visage of Squall after his rescue from the Deep Earth Research Facility, right before his death, crouched there with an accusing look in his one remaining eye. The gore was there, the blood, the smell--everything remembered.   
And that time, it really did hit far too close to home. She lost her mindset for merely a second; but it was long enough to have picked up on. Dammit. That was one thing she hadn't been ready for.   
"Feeling guilty, little girl?" Squall's voice mocked gently.   
"I've done what I could do." She hissed back, keeping her voice as level as she dared. "I have no regrets, and I'm damn well not sorry for anything."   
The illusion liquefied and shifted into that of an older Zell... most of the head gone from his suicide. The voice was liquid, gurgling, insane. "For anything?"   
"He made his own choices." She swallowed the desire to shiver at the gore, at a body that surely could never have spoken even if it had survived the gunshot.   
There was one last effort... and the devil knew she probably saw it coming. The all too familiar form of Sephiroth melted into being, cold green eyes and all. "But you should be ashamed. To feel sexual attraction to the man that would have killed you more than once, that very nearly destroyed your parents so many times--'"   
"I feel sexual attraction to twigs." She dismissed. "Not to mention how overrated the whole 'shame' thing is."   
But this form... was merely to throw her off guard. "Hell has doorways to worlds without number..."   
"Yes, yes. And?" _Can we hurry this along so I can get out of here, please?_   
The sound that only could have been Sephiroth's chuckle echoed as if there were stone walls around them. "And it would truly terrify you to know what the reflections of your parents are involved in. Even the great Sephiroth has an endless mission somewhere." His perfectly recalled black leather uniform changed, the edges coloring crimson and becoming sharper. A single black wing sprang outward, the sound of tearing flesh from his back, splattering blood from the feathers as it flapped once. "Some of your still living family, as well..." Again the form changed into a creature that looked so much like Cloud it was frightening... but no more so than the strange outfit and the claw, looking as though they had been stolen from Vincent...   
She shook her head, convinced that the images were incredibly odd tricks of her unconscious. After all, if the devil could read enough into her memories to pick up subtleties, it could probably pick bits and pieces to throw together on its own, as well. "Spouting nonsense like it'll scare me? Is that it?"   
"If only you could see their consciousness." Another liquid shift left the devil looking like 20-ish Squall with long hair and a much harder expression than she ever remembered. "How their lives are shattered and left to darkness..."   
"Cloud and Vincent are happily settled these days." She responded, her eyes narrowing. Something... she had to admit to herself, that something was not right about these things she'd been shown. It made the pit of her stomach heavy, filling her with a dizzy nausea that she did her damnedest not to show. "And my parents, and Sephiroth, are dead."   
"Only those beings that you can comprehend." The odd illusion of a Squall that couldn't possibly have happened grinned, the devil knowing that he was close to breaking her resolve. He'd gotten her to think about it, to grow uncertain of herself. "Their essences go so far beyond what you know now. They will _never_ rest."   
She could not help the unconscious motion, wrapping her arms around herself at the very thought... She remembered that tiny glimpse she'd gotten of the real Sephiroth before he'd released her... how much she'd wished him peace at last... Of Vincent's nightmares, and Cloud's still more or less hidden feelings of the past. And her parents... didn't they deserve peace? Didn't they all deserve rest? "Is there no heaven?" her voice quivered. She thought of John's father, and his search...   
"There is only entrapment." The devil growled, its form once again changing into a man she knew she had never encountered in any form before. He was tall of tanned skin and silver hair down his back--but looking a far cry from a relation to Sephiroth. The eyes were golden like Ultimecea's, but more still. Perhaps on some level, a little less mad. There was an insignia on his chest that, when she looked at it, would not come into focus. A dream image. A symbol from another world--   
"You are an illusion." She spoke up, convincing herself as best she could. "And I haven't time for your games, or your questionable seeds of doubt." Her strength began to radiate, the Materia wildly shimmering with her emotion inside of her. "Other universes? No, I don't doubt their existence. But they aren't my fault, either. So if I happen to run into them, I'll tell their inhabitants the same thing I'm telling you. Fuck off and leave me alone."   
And with that, the mirror was shattered. She stood there for a moment in the cold room, looking back at the cracked glass of hers... all black, radiating a spider web that was a little too familiar in that moment. But she wondered... just how she'd been able to break through that illusion with such simple words.   
_"Not words."_ Something... surprisingly unfamiliar pulled at her mind. _"Just surprise. And truth. Your own heart, your own truth; keep your light alive..."_ And then it was gone.   
She swallowed, shivering as she gazed into the plain silver surfaces of the other two mirrors, unable to see inside. She hoped very badly that the other two would get their asses out soon. For some reason, she really wasn't comfortable being alone anymore.   


"Hey there, John."   
His skin crawled at that. It was his father's voice, his father's perfect intonation, expression, words he'd used a million times... Even though he knew that being was not Dante, it was disturbingly hard to accept. "Don't bother with niceties, _demon_. They're of no use."   
"But they're so much fun, Sparda." The familiar man shrugged off the insult, his grin turning as sharp as the exposed teeth suddenly became.   
"My name is _John_, dammit." The boy snarled. He was more than his fucking bloodline...   
"You are right." His father's voice taunted. "You aren't deserving of the name Sparda. You've been running like the coward of your bloodline."   
"I _haven't_ been running." He growled, feeling his defensiveness rise more than he could control. "I still make it through gateways."   
"By _running_." The devil growled, making the perfect sound that Dante made when truly angry. "That is the only way you could have found that gateway." He paused, taking a moment to sniff the air around them mockingly. "You're scented with their world. Scented with those pathetic humans."   
He saved himself from declaring something as stupid as, _"I _care_ for those pathetic humans"_ by a mere breath. He _knew_ not to let things like that slip in a place such as the one he felt all too trapped in, but... for a moment, he'd almost forgotten.   
Although, really, it was too late. The devil had picked up on the thoughts. "And that's why I always told you that love ain't worth it, son."   
John snarled back, "You are _not_ my father."   
The demon's expression was a sick mockery of the devious grin Dante once possessed in his youth, before "all the shit happened". "I would bet that even if I stood before you in my trueform, I would be closer to you than your father ever was."   
"Be silent." The boy responded, eyes tinged with red. He wished desperately for a way to cut the demon off quickly, that he'd learned some sort of binding spell of silence... but of course, he never did have that kind of patience.   
The subject was shifted, having seen the possibility of a much larger mental wound to prod at. "You and your blood could have been _great_ had you not let it be poisoned..."   
Puzzled by the words, the red gleam in his eyes died back down to blue, and he forced his own breathing to steady a little. "Poisoned?"   
The devil turned away slightly, the tone turning to one of bored indifference. "That girl's blood... it taints you as surely as your father tainted the demon whore."   
He was... dumbstruck. Completely, absolutely, stricken with absolutely no ability to speak or comprehend for way too long. Something... felt... personal. "What the hell are you talking about?"   
The demon laughed in his father's voice, holding up the illusion for as long as possible. "Your mother was not a human. She was a _demon_."   
"Fucking liar." He grunted, eyes narrowing dangerously. "A devil would not suffer a demon's company."   
"No, a _devil_ would not. Your father was a _halfling_, directly half human. But you... you are so much more..."   
"You're about to find out how right you are." He countered, rage filling him swiftly. His teeth clenched, muscles aching to release the pent-up energy building within them. "The lies you expect me to believe, using my father's face..."   
"Lies?" the devil chuckled heartily. "You know not when the lies strike you!" The creature took a step forward, its flesh seeming to melt and reshape until it resembled--   
Even John could not keep up the harsh outer shell quite as easily when he saw the perfect visage of his mother before him. It was a completely unavoidable response; it'd been so long, so terrible... She'd been gentle and beautiful, but so strong... until he'd seen her dead. What he knew had to be her, anyway... the flesh had been hardly recognizable...   
In her perfect voice, the devil preached, "Didn't you ever wonder why the dogs would neither bark at you nor let you pet them, John? You confused them too much. They couldn't understand what you were. That's why the priest down the street couldn't walk by you without shivering. It's why the boys at school wouldn't look at you, let alone play with you."   
"Dammit, that's not true!" he almost pleaded, backing away from the form as though it were turning into a bigger monster than it already was.   
But the illusion of his mother followed with outstretched hands. "And why do you think you were left alive while I was torn to pieces? While your father took off back into Hell? You were to be found again, John... because you were so valuable... so powerful..."   
"Shut up." He whispered, seeing no boundaries to the darkness around him, no walls in sight. And still, knowing in the back of his mind that the thing in front of him was only an illusion, a devil causing trouble... the seeds of doubt had been cast.   
"What's the matter?" his mother's voice was smooth, soothing like times long since dead. "Don't you like the idea of being special?"   
"Fuck you." He breathed, gritting his teeth. He could _not_ let this thing get to him, destroy him... it was latching onto his memories a little too firmly to let it dig any deeper. "You could have been one of the filthy _demons_ that got away with killing my mother, for all I know."   
The image of his mother's face suddenly contorted, growing black. The entire form faded until there was nothing--then exploded in a form too large and vast to completely comprehend. It was a grotesque nightmare of eyes, hands, bits and pieces of things in flames, and a shell of absolutely deviating, fearful awe. Exactly who it was could not be understood... but _what_ it was became sickeningly clear: one of the higher echelons of Hell.   
And that, more than the rest, just fucking pissed him off. "Where is he?" he screamed, knowing that the answer would have to come.   
A voice unlike any his ears had ever had the displeasure of hearing responded, laughingly. "His body is dead. His soul is with me."   
"No!" he yelled back. "Tell me the truth!"   
"You are _blind_ to the truth, boy." The form boomed, the bass of its voice making John's whole ribcage vibrate. "And even if you come to know the truth, it will not save you. Any of you."   
"Fuck you!" John yelled, control completely obliterated. "A person makes their own destiny! That's how it works above the surface of this fucking prison! You can't control anything not willing to be controlled, you formless, shape-shifting, always ugly, fucking, lunatic!"   
In absolute and complete surprise, he heard... a crack. A breath later, the mirror shattered to the ground, forcing him to stand before it in the cold room, staring back at the blackened glass. _Well. Gee._   
Not surprisingly, he glanced over to see Kyrie already on the other side, waiting for them. Arms wrapped around herself, she was shivering beyond her control.   
He walked to her with a swallow, trying not to let his mind wander on the fact that Rodger seemed not to have made it out yet. He slid one arm out of his coat, stepping beside her, wrapping his free arm around her waist and the side of his coat over her shoulder to offer her warmth while they waited. It was the least he could do, really. "He'll make it." He almost felt stupid trying to reassure her.   
"I know." She half whispered, returning the gesture by encircling his waist with her arm. But she was still worried. Nervous. She knew... what went through her husband's mind sometimes... and if the demon could pick up on that, using Sephiroth... she shivered with things far worse than cold. No. He was strong, dammit. He'd be okay. "So. How was it?"   
"It was... different." He admitted simply.   
She closed her eyes, letting her lips twitch upward. It was... better not to be alone with her thoughts. With the new uncertainties presented.   
"And you?" he prodded.   
"'Different' works."   


The first thing Rodger focussed on were those fucking _eyes_. They glowed like the light of his nightmares, but he was way too pissed and too busy trying to remain calm to bother being afraid.   
"At last we meet on the edge of the world." The thing that looked like Sephiroth spoke with a flourish.   
"I'd tell you to go to Hell, but I see you're here already." He let himself slip just enough to grant a mild satisfaction. Hey, someone had to do it.   
"Tsk, tsk." The devil teased. "Poor boy. Still shaking on the inside."   
"Fuck off." He hissed, an unplanned invasion of anger.   
"Ah." The form of Sephiroth chuckled quietly. "That is not for you. You haven't gotten over the fear of it yet."   
The fear of..?--no time for questions. Only to get the hell out and get on with this crap, already. "You're not really Sephiroth. So I couldn't possibly fear you. And even if you were, it'd only be hate."   
The laughter was clear and gut-wrenching. "Oh really? You do believe that, don't you?"   
The anger... was growing. He kept it quiet, calm, by example. "It is hate. And a lack of understanding."   
The demon's smile fell for a moment, curious. It continued to listen, wasting no breath nor the possibility of springing the trap too early.   
Annoyed with the silence, Rodger growled unthinkingly, "Why did it have to be _her_?"   
"You mean, why did it have to be _you_." Its voice countered lowly.   
His lips pulled back, exposing his teeth and an expression of distaste. Maybe there was a grain of truth there... but he didn't have to admit it out loud.   
"She wanted to be taken." Sephiroth's form prodded, his voice lowering even more dangerously.   
"Not by you." Rodger countered.   
Ah, that was amusing. "Oh, come. I saw the attraction."   
"Yeah, she's pretty free with that." He let a grin flirt across his lips. "But you meant to have much more than a safe, pre-approved little fling."   
And the trap's springs were tight... "Did she ever tell you what I did to her? All of it?"   
As much as the bile and anger flooded his throat, he could not allow it to consume him. "I don't need every blank filled."   
"Have you any idea how many times those 'nightmares' of hers end in orgasm?" the devil continued, pressing closer slowly.   
It took several heartbeats to assure himself that the anger could be kept in check. "You know what they say about fear and desire." --Oh fuck.   
"What _do_ they say about fear and desire?" the creature grinned venomously, green eyes glittering. It was an unexpected jewel found in the middle of the path, to be sure. When the boy didn't respond, it went on. "Is it that fear and desire are sometimes... the same thing? Is that what you're reaching for?"   
Well, he certainly wasn't helping himself, here. Made worse was the fact that the perfect representation of Sephiroth had begun to move closer to him, taunting, threatening--and then it _made contact_. That seemed most disturbing of all. The boy looked down in surprise to where the front of his shirt was tightly fisted in the form's gloved hand, and felt the shirt pulling against him. He _felt_ it. It was... it was more real than he'd though it could be...   
"What is it, boy?" the double of Sephiroth hissed dangerously, green eyes glowing brighter with raging insanity. "Afraid of a demonstration?"   
He swallowed, but found no relief from his suddenly dry throat. No matter. "You're an illusion."   
That smile... that fucking frightening, wrong smile... "Then why are you sweating?"   
"Human behavior. Adrenaline." He snapped, spouting off some anatomy. Anything to break away, anything to make it stop long enough to get his thoughts back together, to fight it off before panic overwhelmed him--   
"Then fight me off." The devil pounced, grasping the boy's wrists and throwing him flat on his back to the floor.   
He _knew_ it wasn't real--but he also knew that he could feel the pressure of hands wringing his wrists. A sudden, complete curtain of panic covered all else. He was slipping--"_Augh!_" A knee had been jammed between his legs and brought up forcefully, sending them apart so harshly that his muscles felt on the verge of tearing. In fact, when his jeans were torn open, he thought for one very cold second that it had been flesh--giving way to an even more horrible possibility. He struggled mindlessly against the cold emptiness that suddenly invaded his exposed skin, throwing his body against the heated weight above him, all too closely feeling the possibilities grind against his struggles--caught in a paralyzing grasp by the pair of eyes... that were not quite Sephiroth's. He knew, somewhere deep in the recesses of his almost hollow mind, that had those eyes belonged to the actual man, he never would have escaped. This time, however...   
Sensing it was losing the boy's concentration, the simple cruel teasing stopped. Instead, it _became_ one of those fears, grasping Rodger's hands in one of his unwordly powerful fists and somehow, in dream-like logic, succeeded in flipping the boy onto his stomach and pressing its weight down on him once more, rendering him completely and perfectly helpless.   
His eyes flashed open in sightless panic, witnessing nothing but darkness before him, all senses gone for a moment... all but touch. Fucking touch. Awful, horrible touch--that was no longer leather he felt against the exposed portions. He cried out in terrified frustration, him imagination far too strong than anything else could ever have been in that moment--succeeding only in the paralyzing knowledge that his struggles were not only in vain, but causing even more pleasure to the sick son of a bitch on top of him--   
_No_, dammit, it was all illusion. It was only in his head, only in his mind--   
--Grinding harder, moving faster, pulling back to--   
Sounds began exploding around him to distract his thought process with absolute perfection. He closed his eyes tightly against the possibility of accidentally seeing something, able to hold back the images of the illusion, but not the sounds. Not the perfect sounds of his wife crying out, begging, thrashing, pleading his name... of that cold bastard's laugh, moaned threats, the sound of leather belts against flesh...   
"No." Rodger stated, teeth grating together. Louder, stronger, "No. That did not happen."   
The weight on top of him merely pressed against him in the most nightmarishly intimate of ways, somehow feeling even warmer and more frighteningly real than before. "You weren't there. She called for you, but you weren't there."   
He tried his damnedest to ignore the iron clench of _every single muscle in his body_ at the accusation, let alone... "_No._" He hissed, eyes flashing open with complete truth flooding his mind. The sensory overload that had been him on the ground was no longer happening, having become only the standing visage of Sephiroth remaining in front of him again. The devil's mask was not so self-assured any longer--a needed push forward.   
"That did _not_ happen." Rodger's voice grew stronger with the tumbling realizations that he _could_ control it. "She'd have told me that." He swallowed, not quite willing to acknowledge his next realization, but understanding it was the only way out of this. "And the real Sephiroth would never have let himself do that. Any of it." Personally, he didn't believe that. But Kyrie did. He knew she did. Somehow she'd seen through the rest of it... and so he would place his faith squarely on her heart.   
The illusion being struggled to hold on to its memorized form. It was a last-ditch effort, the last possibility it had to gain control, especially after the other two had already evaded its grip... "Don't you know that our destinies are intertwined now, hers and mine?" it smiled wickedly through Sephiroth's mouth, completely becoming the man again for as long as it could manage. "Our blood is shared... everything I am, she has a part of. And everything she is..."   
"_No._" He growled instantly, slashing at the air with his hand. "That is _not_ true! You _didn't_ curse her!"   
Having broken through, the devil pounced on its victim's mind. It had reached his goal, settling into a full moment where it was mistaken for the real creature it represented rather than just the terrified struggling of earlier--and the boy only thought back on his choice of words and emotion too late.   
"Bellus Lunctus!" Rodger screamed without thinking, his mouth moved without understanding why or what he was saying.   
And then... he was cold. Very, goddamned, cold. Blinking, his sight came back to him--in the form of a shattered mirror, all of the glass turned to black and a good deal of it laying at his feet. His mind was as solidly numb as his fingers were becoming.   
Then the thought process picked back up again. Those two words... _"Bellus Lunctus"_... what were those two words?   
_"Beautiful Together"._ Came the answer. _"Beautiful Together". The wedding ring._ Whether he'd been saved by the words, by the girl that possessed them engraved in her ring or by some other force he didn't really care to reflect on at just that moment... he looked over and saw the other two, shivering, having waited. And he couldn't hold back.   
He felt the flutter of her racing heartbeat against him as he threw his arms around her. Yeah, she was pretty good at playing it cool on the outside. There was no reason to call her on it, though. Not right there.   
John was a more surprised hug participant, unable to really think of all that much of a reason to have been hugged in the first place... but hey, warmth. And it was kinda... sick-sweet. They all had that much going, alright.   
There was a genuine, nice, beautiful moment there. Interrupted, of course, by the one who was expert at cutting off anything heartfelt when she really needed to. "Okay. It's too fucking cold in here." 


	12. Chapter 12

Descendants of the Mundane and the general overall concept of Descendants of the Mundane is entirely copyright Orin Drake 2003-2004, as are the characters Kyrie (Almasy Leonhart Kinneas), Rodger Kinneas, and John Sparda. Obviously everyone else has been taken from various Final Fantasy games and Devil May Cry, and other people own those. But you ought to know that by now, right?   
Background: It was a stupid idea I came up with while playing Devil May Cry. I mean, come on. Daughter of Squall meets son of Dante. It sounded so rediculously funny that I just had to. So I did. In the beginning, this wasn't meant to be serious, or even to actually exist in Kyrie's universe at all. It was just too weird not to play with, y'know? But it grew on me. Damn you, Ky. I guess it's set more or less a couple of years after the end of Retribution Nor Redemption. Enjoy, I hope. **_Do not read_**, however, if you've got a really narrow view of relationships or sexuality (keep the other two stories in mind, in other words--Kyrie and Rodger have been together for a long time and they're very secure in one another). You might get warped. Heh heh.   
Also Note: In the interest of... well, myself, really, this is written under the theory that "demon" is a term that incorporates all hellspawn--"devil" is used specifically for a humanoid, intelligent, "higher demon". So all devils are demons, but demons are not devils. Just in case there's any confusion.   
  
  
  


Descendants of the Mundane   
Chapter 12   
by Orin Drake 

There was nowhere to go but onward, so they braved the cold as one solid moving object. It wasn't... _so_ bad, really. But damn they'd wished they'd been warned or something. Some heavier socks would have been great... gloves, even better...   
They hurried all they could. It wasn't that far, John knew... but far enough to remember what a bitch he'd found it the first time around. And his half-devil (part demon..?) blood kept him--he literally had to shake the thought out of his head. Fucking mirror devil. What an absolutely horrible joke. It'd been way too much, way too real... and then he glanced at his companions, keeping quick step beside him... Yeah. They had the same looks on their faces that he was sure he must have had before he caught himself. They'd probably gotten mentally fucked in the same way.   
The giant cavern had slowly begun to contract as they kept going, finally resembling more of a large hallway. Soon, he knew it. It couldn't be much farther away. Even his toes were starting to go numb. The icy hall began to bend, cutting off their vision of what was ahead--and while it was dangerous, he didn't slow down. He knew better. If they were there any longer than they had to be, he might well be the only survivor...   
And they were shivering. Of course they were shivering. But it was without complaint. And they kept in step, moving with him. Watching for danger. Damn, but they were... probably idiots. But nice idiots to have on his side.   
An icy shard of what seemed something akin to guilt lodged in his chest at that thought. Thinking about what they'd done together... the closeness, in several ways... how comfortable he did actually feel around them... And what were they headed toward? The doorway to their home... and the gateway to an inner region of Hell, as far as he knew. That... that would separate them, because it _had_ to. Even if they could somehow follow him instead of taking the faster, safer road directly back to where they belonged... they shouldn't. He knew that, but it hurt to realize it just the same. Short of a time as it had been, in reality... he just couldn't really picture what things were going to be like without them again. If it weren't for the rank scent of a waiting demon up ahead, he would have had a lump in his throat.   
As it was, however, all emotion needed to be repressed--up ahead? No, it was almost right fucking next to them--and that's what he got for letting his feelings overwhelm his senses--   
"No thank you." Kyrie spoke on the way past the demon as if it had made her an offer. How she knew the gross little maggoty thing with claws was a rage demon escaped her (and everyone else)... as if it mattered. "I've enough of my own."   
It was so devastatingly shocking that it was stupid... and yet, the demon that had been set to attack... only watched them walk by. No move was made on its part to follow, much less attack.   
"What the hell was that?" Rodger allowed himself to breathe when he felt far enough away from the ugly thing to feel "safe".   
Yes, John really wanted to know the same thing. His gaze was almost accusatory until he saw the slightly bitter smile on her face.   
"What?" she teased. "You think I of all people can't feel a rage demon when I come across one?"   
And despite how little sense that made, the grandson of Sparda grinned. "That head of yours is a labyrinth."   
"And you don't want to get lost." She tossed back, trying to hide the shiver in her voice. Even the harshest winters in Trabia hadn't been so severe... she tried to keep her mind off of her agonizingly numbing feet, but it was getting hard.   
Rodger pulled her a little closer, his own hands losing all feeling swiftly. Things were beginning to get just a little scary--even his thighs were going numb, and that was relatively new.   
"Sorry." John whispered, feeling the full and sudden weight on his shoulders.   
"Don't be." Kyrie interjected easily.   
Well, that was... a most surprising phrase to shut him up, actually. All of the "but"s and "if"s his mind threw at him could not hold to a candle to her words, somehow. Every argument he thought up to shut her idea down simply... paled. That was... more than odd. The girl had powers in Hell... and that gave him a most appreciated smirk. Almost there, dammit. He'd get them there safely.   
Then the tunnel curved again, looking for a moment as if it just may lead back into itself in a maddening circle... instead opening just a bit at the end to reveal a very simplistic doorway. A familiar one... and also a slightly devastating idea. That, physically in front of them, was... _it_. That understanding struck with all the force of the universe. It. This was... it. Through that door there were two more paths... one to where John was going... and one to the other world his companions had come from. It was an idea strong enough to stop him in his tracks, having an uncomfortably paralyzing effect on his consciousness.   
"Is this it?" Kyrie found it in herself to ask without looking back. The same idea was flooding through her as well... but she knew how to build an emotional dam in times of need.   
It took a few seconds for the question to click... but then the half-devil nodded before speaking softly. The words themselves should have been funny... though no humor could really be found. "Yeah. Just a little ways after this door..." Instead of dwelling on the idea, he merely turned the ancient-looking decorative knob as if it were a door in any normal house, and pushed it open. The doorway lead directly to a wide precipice--overlooking an incredibly large, deep, pit. The high "ceiling" of the stone room glowed with a slightly red hue, but just barely. It was only enough to see by.   
Even without being blessed with above average vision, Rodger could easily make out dozens of glowing red eyes in the darkness below--enough to get him to stay against the rock wall rather than step out to take a closer look. At least, once the door was closed behind them, the warmth of the room was solid enough to get him to stop shivering.   
"We'll rest for a minute." John suggested, taking a seat with his back to the pit. He knew what was down there... and at least they didn't jump. No need... they were patient.   
The brunette didn't argue, sliding down the wall and letting his legs take a nice, warm, steady break. Better than it had been, and better than it could be... but he got the overwhelming impression that getting home would involve the pit below.   
Kyrie was last to sit, choosing an equal distance between the two boys for the simple need to be close to both of them. "Well?"   
Darkening blue eyes met her piercing gaze. He had to force himself to retain that contact. "Down there. Technically, you guys go left, and I go right."   
The pit in her stomach had just gotten deeper. She turned from one pair of eyes to the other, seeming to have a silent conversation with her husband for several seconds. Yeah, they both wanted to go home, to get the fuck out of Hell... but they had a friend, too. On a mission. She met John's eyes again with delicately blank features. "You sure?"   
He nodded, barely. "Only I'll be able to survive that. If we all went, we'd get separated. None of us would ever find our way back."   
Interesting. If that was how it was, then... fine. Enough. But... "And what makes you think you'll be able to?"   
Hey, that was a good question. And one he didn't have an answer to. With a sigh, he surrendered the thoughts that had been going through his head for so long, "I have to find my father. He doesn't belong here." He stated with strong conviction, then lowered his head. "Even if he is half devil."   
They may not see each other after this. It was an awful, potentially hazardous, more than pessimistic thought to have, but... it was true. And the other two understood completely. They didn't have to like it, but... they understood. And Kyrie _really_ didn't like it, but... "You have to do what feels right."   
John's stomach churned to the point where he could almost feel it collapse in on itself... Yeah. It more than just felt right... but he had the distinct impression that the three of them knew that already. He sighed, turning to momentarily glare at the rancid dog-like demons below. "I don't know how I'm going to get through that again."   
Another look passed between husband and wife... and Rodger gave the barest of nods. The gunblader made a long stretch of her arms over her head, then arched her back with a series of pops. "It'll drain most of my life energy..." she admitted quietly, but comfortably. "But I can do it."   
John swallowed, looking from one friend to the other. He felt so... wrong about taking that kind of an offer. It was so fucking sweet that he couldn't take it, maybe. Or stupid. Either way. "I don't think..." He trailed off with the sudden realization that he'd been let in on a signal passing. Rodger's, in fact. Giving permission, he got the feeling. Permission for what? To...   
"It'll be okay." The brunette assured quietly. "I'll just have to drag her along for a while."   
Kyrie grinned at the way he phrased that. "It might take a while for me to regain my strength, but... if you think you can get past, then we'll deal with the rest later."   
Taking a slow breath, John wondered out loud to both of them, "Why would you do this for me?"   
It was she that answered naturally, completely confident. "Because I think you'd do the same for either of us. Albeit begrudgingly."   
To his credit, he knew that last sentence had been a joke. Probably more than true, though. Hm. Maybe he had grown "among them", after all. With a sigh, feeling as though he were possibly the biggest, most selfish asshole in the world, he accepted. "Okay. But... just... I don't know. Be careful."   
A good-natured wink met his approval. "Don't ask too much of me, now." With another mild pop of her back, she stood, giving her legs a good stretch. Yeah, she was still a little chilly... but the room was warm and when the adrenaline hit, she knew her muscles would be ready to go. The difficulty of the situation would just have to be tossed aside. "Well, c'mon. Let's have a little lovin', first."   
The boys exchanged a look of sarcastic amusement, then found it in themselves to stand as well. John swallowed down the unusually poignant emotions in favor of the need to press on. Oh, god--he hated that need... but it was time for it. He understood that. It was that killer grin he showed her--that cocky, ass-kicking expression that got him into more scrapes than he cared to admit. But underneath it... the barest tremble of his lips gave away his uncertainty.   
She pretended not to have noticed, instead granting him a moment's shit-eating grin herself. Instead of giving a false assurance that even she wasn't certain she was capable of, she over dramatically wound her arms around his neck like a woman who hadn't seen her only true love in years. Closer, she teased, "Come back, John. I don't like good-byes. And you wouldn't want to piss me off."   
"The hell I wouldn't." He found himself more than eager to play along, giving her a much-needed and satisfying hug.   
It wasn't the sort of kiss songs were written about, of course... but it was... the reassurance that he needed, if only for the moment. People would be surprised if only they knew the power of those who believed in them... They released without remorse, and Kyrie moved aside to prepare herself for the flow of energy.   
Rodger wasn't the sort to just let someone who'd stumbled into their lives to merely leave without a good-bye... well, not when they'd made a _good_ impression on his life, anyway. He walked to the silver-tressed boy, borrowed gun in hand. "Take this away. It scares me."   
John grinned, grateful. Without thought, he spun the handle and seated it neatly within its proper place at his side. Surprisingly normal to have had it handled by someone else, even if it had been out of necessity and for a short period of time. Not that he'd make a habit of that shit, of course... He held out his hand, almost feeling the seconds tick away until the time they'd have to separate...   
The brunette grasped his outheld palm for a shake... then decided in a "what the hell" moment to grant him a hug, instead. One of those "manly hugs", of course. To which the half-devil viciously decided to take humorous advantage of and reach down to grab Rodger's ass firmly.   
To no surprise, Kyrie was watching intently. "Okay, you two. Don't get me all horny before I have to focus my energy, here..."   
"There's not a thing we could do that _wouldn't_ make your horny, Ky." Her husband teased over his shoulder, making a big production out of nipping the side of John's neck.   
The action brought them all to laughing--pushing back the overwhelming feeling of finality. Releasing, the son of Sparda placed a stylish hand on his hip and commented, "And take care of her. She's... 'special'." The boys chuckled in harmony.   
"Goddamn right." She cut in, one last calm check of her Materia. Much as she didn't want to grasp onto the idea... the time was now. She had to be prepared, fully. "You just cover me, love." She almost advised, handing Eleison to Rodger. "If there should be any one of those things that's smart enough not to be mesmerized by the Ultima, then you've just got to start blasting."   
"Will do." He lazily saluted. At least there was a gun that didn't knock him on his ass every time he used it.   
She nodded, turning to John. "Whatever you do, don't look right at the orb."   
"I can do that." He assured, though slightly worried. He wasn't sure what an Ultima was, but it sounded pretty destructive. And, were it to drain most of her very life energy... well, he'd be careful. "Once I get in there... you'll both have to get out."   
She made a quiet sound in the affirmative. "As soon as the glow disappears, it's safe to go down there. And... that's probably all you have to know."   
"That sounds safe enough." He joked.   
Ugh, the moment... She could feel bile riding higher, her gut seeming to compress and get heavy... and that was simply all she could take. There would _not_ be a moment of regret, no time for mourning what hadn't happened yet--it was not the time. Knowing it'd be a rough landing was hardly a thought--the Ultima circling her would be enough to get her down safely. One subtle hand gesture got the others to avert their eyes as she closed her own--calling on her most powerful Materia. Once she felt the heat rise between her palms, she merely stepped off the side of the precipice--   
Her consciousness faded right about there, allowing only the energy and the direction to go on. A ball of green light flooded around her, setting her down safely--and mesmerizing the demons to stare at the glow. Energy peaked to an almost searing level until the Materia could build no more from her body without risking serious injury, then released in what looked like a layered shockwave of crackling green light.   
The sound of the shockwaves hitting the far walls drew the attention of the boys waiting at the top, getting them to look over. Only one beast remained alive--wounded, bleeding, but still very much alive. And very, very angry at the slumped creature that had wounded it.   
Rodger saw it instantly, taking two shots right off. Each one hit with a crack and a gush, but the thing didn't do much more than glare at him before continuing to stumble toward Kyrie's limp form.   
John was already leaping off the ledge as he called, "I got it!" On the last word, he opened fire with both guns blazing. Each bullet tore a shred of flesh from the demon's body until it let out an otherworldly squeal--silenced only by the loud crack of its broken back as John landed on top of it. For good measure, he used another couple of bullets on its head... but when there was no motion from underneath, his success was pretty clear.   
Trying to ignore his understandable nervousness about possibly breaking a limb, the brunette carefully dropped the gunblade to land below, blade-down. Fast enough so that he didn't have time to think of the gruesome possibilities, he simply dropped down over the edge, feet first... then let go. Lucky for him, the pit's floor was pretty much even, allowing a rough but somewhat easy landing. _Whew._   
With a grin and a nod, the half-devil congratulated him. But when he looked over to the other... Kyrie looked dead to the world. Her skin was far more pale than it seemed it should ever be, the movement of her chest as she breathed almost nonexistent. He felt an incredible guilt, shards of it seeming to collect in his throat.   
But Rodger only scooped her unconscious form into his arms. He was sure she'd be okay--though had he been asked why, he wouldn't have been able to give an answer. "It's alright." He assured, holding her close to warm her body up. "She'll be fine after she gets some rest."   
John nodded, but the awful feeling didn't dissipate. "Can you get her back through alright?"   
"Piece of cake." He grinned naturally. "But you better be after us sometime."   
That felt... astoundingly good. An invitation. Really and honestly--and a smile to match. He could only nod and return the expression, really... Too much to say, and no time to say it. He waved, holding back an awful lot of things he'd rather not reveal... then turned to the more elaborate door to the right. That was the one he'd been after before, the one he knew he couldn't take when he'd been chased and accidentally landed... elsewhere...   
"On three, then." He heard behind him, helpfully. "Three."   
Yeah. He almost laughed at that. But he knew he couldn't--all of his energy was already put wholly into grasping the handle.   


A cascade of light. Then a cold, intense rush of darkness. Dizziness at first was replaced by a slightly weightless feeling... and then solid ground underfoot. He'd made it. The Chamber of Souls. _The_ place where the actual souls resided. Even his parents had only heard of this place--and here he was, standing inside of it. The darkness was so absolute that even his highbred vision needed a moment to pick up the subtleties. Blinking, making sure he was seeing correctly, he rubbed his eyes lightly and looked again. He stood dead center in a global chamber, on a stalk of stone that must have extended downward thousands of miles... if not more. His eyes simply could not take in the sight, and his brain would not allow him to believe it--it was like he was inside a hollow planet, and covering the walls were tiny individual chambers that held glowing light. To him they all resembled trillions (_More... so much more..._) of tiny pins. He even tested to see if his eyes weren't playing tricks, reaching a hand up to pluck several dozen with his fingertips--but of course he could not reach. This was real. This ungodly chamber... how would he ever find his father? Were he immortal, he could look for eternity and never find him. This... was truly... the center of Hell...   
He felt tears in his eyes; tears he hadn't felt the sting of in twelve years, when his mother died. Not even when his father disappeared did he feel this bitterness, this helpless--he had believed his father had gone to look for his mother's killer. And certainly, he did. But something happened along the way. And now he, his son, was unable to right either wrong. This was utterly, simply, impossible.   
And all that help he'd gotten. Rodger's quick thinking, good shooting. Kyrie's disturbing sense of humor and willingness to fight with him. He hoped--dare he try it; he _prayed_--that they had gotten out, alive and well. Sinking to his knees, utterly overcome with the immensity of this impossible task before him, he cried out for his father; all that came from his lips was a whisper.   
Knowledge struck him instantaneously like a living thing, and he bore witness to shattered memories that weren't his. From his father's eyes, he saw the two demons that had killed his mother--huge, slimy, black skinned and scaled like reptiles, three purple eyes each, their bodies balanced on things that resembled fish tails. His father had killed them, turned to his demon form and ripped them limb from limb--and then the trap had been sprung. The sour taint stunk of Mundus.   
A barrage of images attacked, the circumstances surrounding the previous run-in with the devil indisguishable from imagined encounters, nightmare images. Bits and pieces of the truth peppered the lies, some imagined, some forced, none making sense. Emotions colored the still frames, but they were just as jumbled--thoughts, sounds, tastes, all things becoming overpowering but too vague to understand--until darkness finally won out.   
John fell forward to be caught by his elbows, panting with the intensity of the information he'd been given. Yes, his father's soul was here, somewhere... but two very distinct things stood out in his mind. One, that he was not _here_, trapped within the walls of the chamber. And two... his father had ultimately surrendered himself so that his mother's soul would ascend.   
With a shaky hand, he wiped a rogue tear from his eye. At least his mother was safe. That was certain, and complete, and reassuring. But there was only one thing that could have happened to his father, only one thing that those who surrender themselves to Hell become. The great and powerful Dante Sparda, son of the great devil warrior Sparda... was nothing more than a slobbering demon servant, to be reincarnated at the will of the Master of Hell. For a devil to become a demon...   
He shook, his body shivering with the simple idea... he may have killed his own father in demon form. Numerous times. But his father had _tried to kill him_, as well. It wasn't... it wasn't right...   
_Something_ scraped at the ground behind him. Even had he not been so deep in despair, he'd not have had the time--a grotesque demon with huge wings, tentacles wriggling out of its chest and admirable claws all too clear to behold, pounced. John cried out, feeling the muscles in his forearms pierced--abruptly silenced when he turned his head and witnessed the saw-toothed monster glowering at him. The eyes were brilliant, vicious orange--but it wasn't the color that had caught him off-guard. His worst fears had come to pass. Through those eyes--they do say the eyes are the windows to the soul--he saw his father's; tormented, agonized, reliving things that may or may not have happened, only a helpless battery to power the demon body.   
"Dad!" he choked, knowing that there would be no response. The soul and the body were disconnected completely--but anything was worth a try.   
The demon leaned forward, sniffing him like prey. It then slowly opened its mouth--five rows of razor sharp teeth sprang up from the black flesh, three reptilian tongues wagging as if to taste the adrenaline and fear.   
John screamed out of desperation, kicking at the beast's back legs. The demon only put more pressure on his body, the solid stone underneath him pushing the air out of his chest. He didn't want to hurt the soul within the demon, didn't want to take this action, but there was no choice. As much as it hurt, as unnaturally awful as it was to feel his own forearms rip more once he moved them, he grasped his guns--his father's guns.   
The demon paused as if startled--but John couldn't afford to wait. He shot, blasting the beast clean off of him. As the claws took chunks of flesh with them, he cried out sharply--but there was no way he could slow down his pace now. Standing, gasping in breath as fast as his lungs would allow, he raised both pistols and shot--   
Only to scream again. The recoil! It was bad enough with sore muscles, but with shredded ones... He'd have to ignore it. Two more bullets went flying, knocking the demon back a little further, each one gaining a painful grunt out of the attacker.   
Bleeding something glopy and brown, in pain and absolutely pissed off, the demon leapt forward again--into another bullet. Half its jaw fell to the ground, one tongue still wagging across its surface.   
John felt he would either faint or puke his guts out at any moment. Neither seemed a good option. "Dad!" he tried again. "Dad, please! I don't want to kill you!"   
The monster ignored his cries. Not only was it hurt and pissed, but now its upper jaw was exposed. It had the remote intelligence to make use of that new ability, striking at its adversary like a cobra.   
The boy leapt--then teetered on the edge. Oh, this would not do. If he fell in this place, he'd never land. He fired again, just trying to gain time to come up with a better idea.   
Another bit of knowledge struck him from behind. It seemed ludicrous. Stupid, suicidal--but what did he have to lose now? If he killed the demon, his father would just keep being tortured in the realms of Hell, made use of for another stinking demon creation. But maybe... just maybe... he holstered his pistols, and waited.   
There was no need to bide his time; as the monster leapt, ready to strike again, John grabbed on. It was like an embrace, all arms and legs grasping hold. The demon was so shocked that it tumbled cleanly over the edge, riding in a free-fall.   
Time to see what a moron he really was. Stomach churning, hair flapping, arms aching, just wanting to be with his friends again and forget the stench of this infernal pit--"I grant you mercy!" he screamed, holding on for dear life. The images flashed through his mind's eye again--his mother's death, his uncle's torment, his grandfather's disappearance, his grandmother's murder, the lives destroyed, the could-have-beens that were never quite forgotten, the realities that were wished away so many times... "I grant you freedom from your guilt and your pain!" Even through the tears in his eyes and a steady dark haze overcoming his vision, he thought he could see one of the demon's eyes shimmer, changing from orange to blue, a familiar human-like whisper rushing through his head that sounded like his own name... 


	13. Chapter 13

Descendants of the Mundane and the general overall concept of Descendants of the Mundane is entirely copyright Orin Drake 2003-2004, as are the characters Kyrie (Almasy Leonhart Kinneas), Rodger Kinneas, and John Sparda. Obviously everyone else has been taken from various Final Fantasy games and Devil May Cry, and other people own those. But you ought to know that by now, right?   
Background: It was a stupid idea I came up with while playing Devil May Cry. I mean, come on. Daughter of Squall meets son of Dante. It sounded so rediculously funny that I just had to. So I did. In the beginning, this wasn't meant to be serious, or even to actually exist in Kyrie's universe at all. It was just too weird not to play with, y'know? But it grew on me. Damn you, Ky. I guess it's set more or less a couple of years after the end of Retribution Nor Redemption. Enjoy, I hope. **_Do not read_**, however, if you've got a really narrow view of relationships or sexuality (keep the other two stories in mind, in other words--Kyrie and Rodger have been together for a long time and they're very secure in one another). You might get warped. Heh heh.   
Also Note: In the interest of... well, myself, really, this is written under the theory that "demon" is a term that incorporates all hellspawn--"devil" is used specifically for a humanoid, intelligent, "higher demon". So all devils are demons, but demons are not devils. Just in case there's any confusion.   
  
  
  


Descendants of the Mundane   
Chapter 13   
by Orin Drake 

Time moved differently when one moved through dimensions. To the rest of the world, they'd been gone for a whole week. No wonder everyone worried.   
Regardless, when Rodger had initially stumbled through the gateway, he didn't make immediate moves to call for anyone. Or to travel. Laying Kyrie down in the sandy soil, it certainly looked like they were somewhere in Esthar. Chances were, soldiers would find them soon. Hopefully of the friendly variety.   
Even as she woke up at twilight, they stayed. No need to voice their desire to wait, they just laughed about pretending to be camping. Conversations about the creepy shit in Hell was the majority of the talk... before discussions of food. And even into the night... they just didn't want to leave.   
Finally, right before dawn, it was Vincent who managed to find them with a single military vehicle and a couple of familiar guards from the Presidential Estate. Surprise, surprise. Maybe he'd just known where to look. He hadn't needed much of an explanation, and he didn't ask for one; he only took them to the train station with the promise that everyone would be informed that they were safe. They wouldn't need to seek the outside world until they were ready. It just... seemed the step to take after merely looking at them, really.   
They went home in silence. The kind of silence one found themselves comfortable in when they'd been around each other for a long time. But even then... the walk from the station and back to the house in the dark seemed... less than whole.   
It wasn't that they weren't complete without him, in themselves... but that didn't really stop the feeling of incompleteness with him left behind. Oblivion, that's what it was. And it... was not so pleasant. Unfinished business... and a friend they had no idea if they'd ever see again. In one respect, sleep came easily... but in another, it just wasn't soon enough.   


Adjusting to the odd idea of day and night was somehow a little harder than it seemed it should be. That might have been because they'd slept well into the afternoon for several days, but... even then.   
At least they were nestled together, safe and sound, rotting their brains out with television in the living room for the third night in a row. The couch felt extra glorious after all of... "that"... But just as they were settling in to another somewhat decent sitcom, the distinct sound of the doorbell jarred them out of their pleasant entertainment coma.   
Rodger looked over at the door quizzically. "Expecting anyone?"   
She shook her head. "Vincent isn't supposed to get here until tonight. And no one else was invited." She grinned slightly, getting off the couch and walking over. "Maybe it's pizza even before we called. Wouldn't that be nice?" She joked, looking through the tiny window.   
Her breath stopped. Even her heart seemed to have waited out the pause. Certainly her brain had ceased functioning properly. Not quite believing, she switched the locks. With a slow, tense motion, she turned the knob and pulled it toward her... then leapt on top of the visitor.   
Wordlessly, John returned the hug. "Hey, babe." He whispered, grinning.   
Rodger appeared behind her, looking quite happy about the whole thing. Regardless, his greeting consisted of, "What the hell took you so long?"   


He seemed kind of... different. Not in a bad way, and not like a whole other person or anything. But... different. It wasn't in a way that actually came through his motions, his laughter, his eyes... but it was there, just the same. They'd gathered around him at the kitchen table as though he were a sage and storyteller, eager to get the details.   
In all honesty, he had very little to say. It wasn't because nothing had happened, of course... but it didn't seem the sort of conversation to have at the moment. He described the Chamber of Souls, gave them the gist of what happened... and that's all that was needed. Moments later, pizza was called for. They'd all earned a damn good meal.   
As they waited, Kyrie started the more probing questions. "How the fuck did you get out?"   
"I... I don't know." He answered honestly, sitting back and relaxing. "One minute, I was falling... and the next, I was in the middle of 'Esthar'," he pronounced the word to the best of his ability, "With a seriously full bladder and a bunch of bruises."   
Rodger laughed quietly. "And how'd you find your way here?"   
"Pure stupid luck." John admitted. "I just kept walking until I saw a town. Resren, I think it was."   
Kyrie nodded. "You mean a gas station and a grocery store, not a town."   
"Yeah." He agreed, grinning. "The owner of the store pointed me toward the station. Said there wasn't a bus until the end of the week, so I walked until I found a damn train."   
She smirked. "You must still be tired." Good thing replenishing food was on the way.   


There was a comforting sort of regularity in the evening at last. Pizza, cola, nudges and jokes... It was good. Really, very, good. But, frankly, the three of them were exhausted--John from having come a damn far ways, and the spouses for having felt like, in a sense, they'd lived through the same thing.   
Kyrie glanced at the clock, noting that it was plenty late enough to go to bed... but wondering, for a moment, just where the hell Vincent had gotten to. Probably just found an excuse to stay at work to keep an eye on some dull thing or another. She found herself yawning even before she was aware she was tired enough to do so.   
"Me, too." Rodger commented, stifling an answering yawn for as long as he could.   
There was a look of mild curiosity in the bright blue eyes on the other side of the table. He actually felt a little... satisfied, in his own way. Smiling brilliantly at his silent onlookers, he merely leaned back, hands behind his head, and felt the sweet relief of... being. Somehow that seemed very important.   
"You're not thinking of taking off on us again anytime soon, are ya?" Kyrie did her absolute best not to sound like she were concerned. Or desperate.   
"You're not getting rid of me that easily." He let loose that all too apparent charm. "Unless you would rather have your space, in which case--"   
"We have an extra room." She interrupted.   
Rodger looked too pleased about that one to really question whether or not he was in on this decision. And why the hell not--one more person to entertain Kyrie wasn't a bad idea.   
"Well then." The devil-hunter hardly wanted to wait to hit an actual mattress again. "Shall we?"   
It was... a good feeling, she acknowledged with an amused smile. "Actually... I was sort of thinking I'd stay here for a few minutes before I join... well, one of you."   
Rodger grinned. Yeah, he understood... every once in a while, she just needed a few moments to herself. He equated it to a certain kind of reflection. Pushing his chair back, he stood and walked over to hug her good-night. "Just be up soon, alright?"   
"I'm too tired to stay up all night." She assured, returning the affection.   
"'Night, Ky. I love you." He whispered.   
"I love you too." She responded, sealing the words with a kiss. After catching his joking tumbs-up just as he disappeared to the stairs, she turned to the grinning "other" across the table.   
"And where should I sleep?" he ventured.   
"Anywhere but my spot." She responded without a pause.   
He shook his head, glad to be back. "Well, the possibilities are almost endless, then." In a quick motion, he darted up from the chair and then behind her, feeling exceptionally playful in his tired state. Hey, he wanted a hug before bed, too.   
She was glad to return it, in fact. Even sneaking a... somewhat chaste kiss. Hey, he'd earned it. "Good night, John."   
"'Night, Kyrie." He released her, walking toward the doorway... and paused there, wondering... But it wasn't like that. And they all knew it. There were no hopelessly romantic things about it, nothing to be taken any deeper than it was actually meant. "Love you."   
"Love you too." She returned. After the last footstep disappeared from the top of the steps, she leaned back and stared blankly at the wall. Hm. A hell of a lot had happened in the past couple of weeks. And nothing... too dramatically had changed... had it?   
A sound startled her out of her pondering--a rather strange one. Quiet, but... knocking? At the door? Not quite of the sort that would draw a lot of attention, normally. How very... odd. With quiet steps, she made her way over, taking note of the number of weapons on the wall behind her, then quickly peeking through the window at the door.   
Ah. Of course. It could be no other, really... Taking care to be very quiet, she turned the locks and carefully pulled the door open. "Vincent." She wasn't sure why she was surprised, exactly; he'd been invited, after all. For some reason, though, it just seemed like tonight of all nights, he may not have come.   
He stepped inside with a nod, as if everything were supposed to be professional. When the door was closed and locked behind him, he waited to be "escorted" to the kitchen before he began a conversation. "I heard that a 'strange kid with white hair and creepy eyes' boarded a train to Trabia tonight. I get those kinds of annoying reports, you know."   
She couldn't hold back the appreciative grin springing to her face at his comment. "I don't suppose you'd have anything to do with rearranging the train schedule."   
His bluff was perfect. "What do you mean?"   
She wasted no time in revealing what she'd come to realize. "He shouldn't have made it here for another couple of hours due to train repairs. Don't think I don't pay attention to your agitated ramblings once in a while."   
He chose to avoid the subject altogether. "And where are your playthings?" he asked with the dullest hint of humor.   
"Upstairs." She responded, a mild grin on her face. "It's a brooding mood, tonight. I think they both know to stay clear."   
He nodded, understanding completely. "Mind if I join you for a moment, then?"   
"No." She simplified, bringing a half bottle of Quistis' favorite spiced rum out of the fridge and a shot glass from the cabinet, placing them both at her place at the table. "I imagine you've won prizes for brooding."   
He smirked, then turned his attention to the bottle. It was just a thought, spoken for the sake of understanding it for himself. "I haven't had a drink in... well, centuries, I suppose."   
She really couldn't admit to being surprised. "Care to take a swing, then?" she offered half seriously   
To her surprise, he looked to be honestly weighing the possibilities. It took several seconds to happen, but at last he pulled the chair next to hers from the table and sat, looking ready for just about anything.   
She shrugged wordlessly, getting another shot glass. Placing it in front of him, she sat and poured him a nicely sized drink. Not quite a "full" shot, but close enough.   
He looked at the amber liquid quizzically, as if pondering his choice again. "The last time I drank... I really needed it." Was all he offered, taking the glass delicately in his flesh hand to inspect in the dim light.   
She had a pretty good idea to what he was referring. How, exactly, was a mystery--but things like that often happened between the two of them. She remembered, almost too clearly, the vision of a younger, naked and recently transformed Turk assassin, tied to a bed, through the eyes of a psychopath... "I bet." Herself, she wasn't one to do shots unless it was "competitive", like with her aunt. Even then she'd never go that far, knowing Quisty had limitless potential that her meager niece could never live up to. Shot glass or no, she took small swallows and let the dichotomy of the cold liquid and the burning alcohol wash all the way down.   
The former Turk grinned at her behavior, recognizing his own youthful indulgences--but she didn't need to know that. On some level, he was pretty certain that she already did. Taking a chance, he took the full shot--almost recoiling with the sting. It had been a _long_ time. He realized very quickly that the taste honestly sucked.   
Kyrie was clearly amused by the look on his face. It certainly had been a long time. She had assumed that would be that, but he thumped the glass down right in front of her with no indications that he was through just yet. Interesting... she obeyed the silent request by pouring another.   
Alright, a full shot was too much. Maybe he'd cut it into two and that way he'd be less likely to taste it. Trying his method, he found that it was actually worse that way--he was still presented with a half full shot glass, promising just as much burning and bad taste as he'd just swallowed. Hence the very design of the shot glass, he supposed. He thoughtfully placed the half shot back on the table for a moment, preparing himself. The burn was already moving through him--as was the effect of the alcohol. A pleasant buzz, but the promise of so much more... he downed the rest of the shot quickly, returning the empty glass in front of "the barkeep" once more.   
She gave it pause, this time. Hoping terribly that she wasn't just creating an alcoholic, she poured once more for him, then filled her own almost empty glass.   
"Outsider." He said aloud, holding his glass between his outstretched fingers like a gazing ball, merely staring at it.   
That hadn't seemed like... well, like anything. Her eyes narrowed, waiting for a better explanation. He wasn't drunk enough to be hurling poor insults.   
"My old rifle." He admitted quietly. "Is called Outsider."   
"It fits." She grinned softly.   
He nodded, but left no more comment. This time, he was slow. It proved better to be forced to taste the shit--it'd remind you what you were really doing to your own body.   
Her request was absolutely out of the blue, softly spoken but explosive. "Don't leave."   
He took a last slow swallow of his drink, then carefully placed the glass off to the side as though she hadn't said anything. Only then did he react, meeting her eyes with a completely serious sincerity. His voice was quiet, rather than accusatory. "Why do you assume I would?"   
She smiled at that ever so slightly, diverting her eyes for a moment. "Just thought I'd make sure." There had been a worry. A very deep, very real worry there. It was completely unrealistic to think that he'd have left no matter how many people were living in the house, regardless of the fact Cloud was still around, but... she knew sometimes that unrealistic fears had very real bases. He was one to run away, once. She knew that. "Once" did not mean "still", but...   
He pulled away, leaning against the back of the chair with his arms crossed. It was a thoughtful sort of position; one that he held to silently until she made eye contact again. "The nightmares rarely come, anymore."   
It was her turn to wait in silence for a short time, taking that information in. That was good, very good--and meaningful on a whole other level, perhaps.   
"And I think..." he continued, just as thoughtfully, "That if I were to leave, that much would no longer be the case."   
"So insomnia keeps you here?" she teased.   
He smiled at that, just buzzed enough not to give a fuck what emotions surfaced. "Yes. And that is all."   
Yeah, it'd been a joke. But she gave him a Squall-esque look of death anyway.   
Vincent chuckled softly, taking the glass in his hand again, but not drawing it to his lips. "You've been through a lot, you know."   
What a fucking understatement. "Yes, I am aware."   
"And you keep coming back." He let the smile through again, albeit a bit more devious this time.   
She watched that smile like a hungry predator over wounded prey. She never would have believed it, but there was... something to it. Honestly and truly, he was... he was giving her a signal "Did I wear you down, old man?"   
"No." He denied, watching her hopeful look perish with a well drawn out pause. "The liquor did."

* * *

Sorry, kids. The rest is up to your imagination. Though I am fully tempted to offer a "choose your own adventure" sort of scene after this. Just so there is no one ending. It seems appropriate.   
I thank you all, fully and whole-heartedly, for sticking with me to actually finish this thing... I've gotten a hell of a lot of great support, and I can only hope to keep you interested in the future. Is this the end of Kyrie? I don't know. But somehow... I kinda doubt it. 


End file.
